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Copyright 1924 
P. F. Volland Company 
Chicago, U. S. A. 

(All rights reserved) 
Copyright, Great Britain, 1924 
Printed in U.S.A. 





©C1A777767 

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CONTENTS 


Page 

How the New Year Knows When to Come . 9 

About the Telegraph.12 

How the Military Salute Came .... 14 

Candlemas Day.16 

Abraham Lincoln’s Birthday.18 

About Valentines.21 

Why We Celebrate George Washington’s 

Birthday.24 

About Boy Scouts.26 

St. Patrick’s Day.28 

Lent.31 

Palm Sunday.32 

The Story of the Bible.33 

Good Friday.35 

About Easter.37 

Trailing Arbutus or Mayflower . 39 

About Pearls.42 

About Mr. and Mrs. Pelican.44 

Indian Day.47 

About Hats.49 

Mother’s Day.51 

About Forks.53 

About Silk.54 


















CONTENTS 


Page 

All We Know About Strawberries ... 57 

Children’s Day.59 

About Carrier Pigeons.60 

About Coal.62 

Flag Day.65 

The Sea-gull Monument.67 

Fourth of July.69 

Mr. Irish Potato.72 

Old Abe, the Wisconsin War-eagle 75 

About Clocks.77 

About Cotton.80 

About Coral.82 

The Star-Spangled Banner.84 

About Umbrellas.87 

Hallowe’en.88 

About Wolves.89 

How Thanksgiving Came.91 

Christmas.93 



















^ Jf HERE was once a boy named Billy, who spent a 
-Jii- summer in the woods with Somebody. 

Somebody had expected to have a wonderful time 
telling him stories; but it turned out that the boy named 
Billy did not care for made up stories. He would listen, if 
they were sufficiently exciting, but even stories of wolves 
and bears and tigers were not very much worth while un¬ 
less they were really so. 

He wanted to know about the beginning of things, 
and what Certain days meant, and who started customs, 
and ever and ever so many things that you’d never sup¬ 
pose a small boy would be interested in. 

So, I’ve been wondering if there are not many boys 
like Billy who, also, like to know about things that are 
really so. 

And so, I’ve written down a good many of the 
things Somebody and the boy named Billy talked about 
after the lights were out and the fireflies came, during 
that wonderful summer in the north woods. 


Your very own, 




































































How tfoNewlfear 

Slttlows wftert to coirte 

^HE boy named Billy had begged to be allowed to 
stay up to greet the New Year. He had some¬ 
thing he wanted to ask him if he could only see 
him, but he presently got so sleepy that his eyes 
wouldn't stay open and so off he went to bed and 
to sleep. 

But all at once there was a great tooting of 
whistles and ringing of bells, and a skyrocket 
went “whiz” right past his window. The boy 
named Billy sat up straight in bed. 

“Oh,” said he, rubbing his eyes, “the New Year has come 
and I didn't even see him.'' 

“Happy New Year, Billy,'' said a jolly little voice. The 
boy named Billy rubbed his eyes to make sure—yes—he really 
did believe that there was a roly-poly little person sitting on 
the edge of the clock shelf swinging his bare pink feet and 
smiling happily. 

“Why,” gasped Billy, “who are you?” 

“Whom did you expect?” asked the little fellow. “I'm 
Father Time's youngest year, to be sure. Haven’t got my 
license, or my number yet; I'm waiting until this racket stops. 
Were you looking for me for any special reason?” 

“What I want to know,” said the boy named Billy, “is, 
how does the world know where one year ends and a new 
one begins?” 

“That's some question, youngster,” said the jolly New 
Year, laughing merrily, “and it took the funny old world 

[ 9 ] 





some time to settle it. You see the year cannot be divided 
evenly into months and days, because the time actually 
required for the earth's journey around the sun is 365 days, 
5 hours, 48 minutes and 46 seconds. You call that the solar 
year, because the word 'solar' means concerning the sun. 

"The old Romans tried having the New Year come on 
March first, but they had no real system, and were always in 
trouble. So Julius Caesar, the king, told the world that it 
was most important to have a calendar that could be depended 
upon to take care of all the time, because there wasn't any 
too much, anyhow. So with the help of some very wise men 
he took the twelve new moons of the year and built a calendar 
around them. This was called the Julian calendar, and every 
fourth year figured this way was made a c leap year,’ and was 
given an extra day, making it 366 days long. 

"But putting in a whole day every four years was too 
much, and after this calendar had been used over 1,500 years 
it was found that the calendar year was about ten days behind 
the solar year which wouldn’t do at all. 

"So Pope Gregory XIII directed that ten days be 
dropped from the calendar that year and that the day after 
October 4, 1582, should be October 15. Then he rearranged 
the calendar so the New Year would begin January 1 and 
the calendar year and the solar year kept together. The 
Gregorian or New Style calendar as this one was called is the 
one we are using today. 

"New Year's Day has been celebrated in various ways 
since the dawn of civilization, and if today we could travel 
around the world on a magic carpet what a wonderfully inter¬ 
esting sight we would see! 

"If you were in China you might think the Chinese saved 
their holidays to celebrate all at once. They close their shops 
for several days while they make merry with feasts and fire¬ 
works and general exchange of gifts and good wishes. In 
preparation every debt must have been paid, every house 
swept and cleaned, and each person furnished with holiday 

[ 10] 


clothes and a supply of preserved fruits, candies, and orna¬ 
mental packages of tea to give to his acquaintances. 

“In some European nations, especially France and Scot¬ 
land, New Year's Day is a more important holiday than Chrst- 
mas. If you were a French peasant child you might put a 
wooden shoe on the hearth for a gift at Christmas, but grownups 
in France exchange gifts at the New Year festival, at which 
time there are family parties, with much merrymaking. 

“In America the observance of New Year’s Day is varied. 
New Year’s Eve there are ‘watch night’ services in the 
churches—gay street revelers—dancing and theater parties; 
and New Year’s Day is a time for general entertaining and 
visiting. However, the old custom of keeping open house 
and making New Year’s calls has practically disappeared. 

“People are always glad to see the New Year and always 
welcome us in some glad and cheery way,” went on the New 
Year. “And it has always been the custom among all people 
to exchange gifts and greetings in the name of Happiness on 
New Year’s day. The Old Year is supposed to take away 
all sorrow and sadness, and the little New Year is supposed 
to bring nothing but happiness into the world, so it depends 
upon each person to see that he gets his share of the happi¬ 
ness.” 

“How?” asked the boy named Billy. 

“Easily,” answered the little New Year. “By living 
straight, playing fair, being kind and honest and helping those 
not so fortunate as you are. That’s all there is to it, little 
friend. And there goes the last whistle and now for three 
hundred and sixty-five days of real living. Happy New Year, 
Billy.” 

“Now I wonder,” murmured Billy sleepily, “if that was 
really so , or did I dream it. I’m going to read up on that 
calendar thing the very first thing I do, and I’m going to play 
I saw the New Year anyway; and I’m going to try to do just 
as I think he would want me to ’cause I want my share in 
making this year a very, very happy one.” 

[ii] 


JR. 

Afcont tfteTrefegrap^t 

M OTHER has just had a telegram from 
Grandmother that she's on her way to 
visit us/' said the boy named Billy. 
- “I'm strong for Grandmother and I'm 
going to train to meet her." 

“We're all fond of Grandmother," 
corrected Big Sister, “ and we're all going 
to the train to meet her. Who brought 
the telegram?" 

“Nobody brought it," said the boy 
named Billy. “When it got to town it 
just hopped off the telegraph wires and 
hopped on the telephone wire and came 
right out here. That's got magic beaten 
a mile I’ll say. Whoever invented the telegraph system any¬ 
how?" 

“Oh, you with your ‘who inventeds'! " said Big Sister. 
“Why don’t you study up such things yourself?" 

“I can read it afterwards," said the boy named Billy, 
“but when Somebody tells it to me that makes a story of it. 
Please, who did invent the Telegraph?" 

[12] 



l NSTRUM ENT 
















“Samuel F. B. Morse did,” said Somebody. “He was born 
at Charlestown, Massachusetts, April 27th, 1791, and lived 
until April 2nd, 1872. He was a portrait painter, and student 
of chemistry, and went to London to study painting under 
Benjamin West, where he made such progress that when he 
returned to America he was given a commission to paint a 
full length portrait of LaFayette.” 

“LaFayette was some hero and worth painting,” said the 
boy named Billy, “but when do we come to the telegraph?” 

“Right now,” smiled Somebody. “The idea of electricity 
had been talked of for a long time, and while Mr. Morse was 
away on one of his trips to England it was found by some 
experimenting that electricity could be conveyed by means of 
wire over distances. 

“A gentleman whom Mr. Morse met on ship board told 
him of these experiments and it brought to his mind the old 
belief held by Benjamin Franklin that intelligence some time 
would be conveyed by electricity, a belief which he had always 
shared. He went to work to perfect an instrument and a code 
for the system which he had in mind, with the result that 
when the boat landed his idea was ready to present.” 

“He struck before the iron was hot, didn’t he?” 

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” said Somebody, “but 
it was two long years after that before the system was com¬ 
pleted and in working order. And it took quite some per¬ 
suasion also to get other people to believe in it, but finally 
Congress voted him thirty thousand dollars to help him along 
with his project and so he won out. 

“Where, before, it had taken months and years to get 
word from or to distant places, it could now be done almost 
instantly. Samuel Morse’s life was one long record of courage, 
integrity, patience and faith.” 

“Bob White and I are fixing up a wireless on the roof 
of our garage,” said the boy named Billy. “It’s two hours 
before Grandmother’s train pulls in. Don’t forget to call 
me, and many thanks, Somebody!” 

[ 13 ] 



Mow tfielMLifitary SaTute cairte 


I 


4 ><£> HI CAN'T seem to get the real snap into the salute that 
Sergeant Jim does/' said the boy named Billy. “He 
drills me on it every time I see him. But try as I 
■ may I can't seem to get the style into it, and I've 
just got to learn it before I go into Scout camp; want to spring 
it on the fellows.'' 

“Sergeant Jim didn't learn it in a lesson or two, either," 
said Somebody. “He had it literally drilled into him. So 
don't get discouraged, Billy." 

“I'm not discouraged; I'm going to get it," said the boy 
named Billy. “Sergeant Jim says that when he first went into 
the service he just hated the salute. But after a while when 
he began to know what it meant, he didn't mind it. What does 
it mean? Why should a soldier salute an officer? An officer's 
no better than a soldier, is he?" 

“Depends on how you look at it," said Somebody quietly. 
“The officer occupies a higher position and the salute is a 
matter of courtesy—like saying ‘Good morning,' to your 
mother, or the boy next door." 

“ It is also a matter of discipline, isn't it ?" asked Big Sister. 

“It has grown to be that, of course," answered Somebody. 
“But it first came into being because the soldiers who were 

[14] 











called the ‘Free Men of Europe’ were allowed to carry arms, 
while the slaves or serfs and poorer classes were not. When one 
military man met another it was customary for him to raise 
his arm to show that he had no weapon in it, and that the 
meeting was friendly. The slaves and serfs, not being allowed 
to carry weapons, passed without salute. But so imitative are 
we all that it was not long before everybody was saluting 
everybody else, which did not suit the aristocratic army men, 
who then resolved to make their salute so hard to learn that 
it could not be imitated without real military service, so that 
an outsider using it would brand himself as a commoner by his 
incorrect manner of saluting.” 

“And so that’s how it became,” said the boy named Billy. 
“Well, I may not be a soldier, but I am going to get it if 
Sergeant Jim’s patience holds out.” 

“You may not be a soldier, but you are a soldier’s grand¬ 
son,” said Somebody. “And all of your people have been 
soldiers when there was any need to fight for the Stars and 
Stripes.” 

“I’ll be right there when the Grand Old Flag needs me,” 
said the boy named Billy. “And when I’m needed, I’m going 
to be a captain, so I’ve just got to get this salute right.” 

“You’ll have to watch your step in more ways than one,” 
said Big Sister; “to be an officer in Uncle Sam’s Army means 
that you must be very well educated, a real gentleman, able 
to train your men, keep discipline, and make yourself popular 
with them. 

“You should see them drill at West Point, Billy. They 
know, these fine, clean young men, that some day they will 
be officers in Uncle Sam’s army so they are earnest—quick 
to learn and accept the teaching of experienced instructors. 
Strict mental and physical discipline is necessary to make 
first rate officers.” 

“Leave it to me,” said the boy named Billy, drawing him¬ 
self up and putting real snap into the salute. “I’m going to 
be what Sergeant Jim calls a ‘regular.’ ” 

[15] 



(Ca rictte mas ©ay 


66 


B 


OB WHITE'S Grandfather says that 
we’re going to have six weeks more 
good hard winter,” said the boy 
named Billy on one bright Candle¬ 
mas day, “because it’s been so sun- 



a 


Ye 

Pr jpfvet 


shiny all day that the old ground-hog couldn’t help seeing his 
shadow when he came out.” 

“Well, I certainly hope he proves to be a false prophet 
this time,” said Big Sister. “I’ve had all the winter I want 
right now.” 

“Oh, Sis, what do you mean you’ve had enough winter!” 
exclaimed the boy named Billy, reproachfully, “winter’s the 
joiliest time there is—with all the coasting and the toboggan¬ 
ing and skating. I’m hoping it will stay cold so we can have 
another carnival. Wasn’t the last one a peach! Bob White’s 
father said he had never seen better fancy skating or more 
exciting races. He told us to be a fancy skater you have to 
have good balance, a sense of rhythm, and no little athletic 
ability. I’m going to practice so I can do stunts at the carnival 
next year. Say, Somebody, is there anything to that ground¬ 
hog story?” 

“Probably not,” said Somebody, “Mr. and Mrs. Arctomis 
Monax, more familiarly known as Brother and Sister Wood¬ 
chuck, are pretty wise little people, and are more than likely 
sleeping the sleep of the just at this time; yet I have heard of 
them being lured from their dens by unusually bright weather 
long before the vegetation upon which they feed had started 

[16] 






and that they paid for their foolishness with their lives, which 
is too bad, because they are really nice little folk.” 

“Why do they hibernate?” asked the boy named Billy. 

“They belong to the family who do such things,” said 
Somebody. “They, and the bears, and some other animals, 
find it more convenient to store up fats in their little round 
bodies in the summer time, and to curl up and sleep through 
the winter months, when there is nothing to eat that they 
really like. Saves a lot of trouble.” 

“Where did that old yarn come from about them coming 
out on this day?” asked the boy named Billy. 

“The myth is very likely of Indian origin,” said Some¬ 
body, “but there is also an old Scottish rhyme to the effect 
that ‘if Candlemas day be fine and clear there’ll be twa 
winters in the year.’ 

“ Do you know why the 2nd of February is called Candle¬ 
mas day?” asked the boy named Billy. 

“ It is another of those old made over Pagan Festivals,” 
said Somebody. “The early Romans always used to burn 
candles on that day to the goddess Februa, who was the 
Mother of Mars, making a very beautiful and impressive 
occasion of it. 

“Pope Sergius, after the way of those old priests, wished 
to do away with all the old pagan rites but did not dare to 
openly raise the question, so he gave orders for candles to 
be burned on that day to the Mother of Christ hoping that 
in the new festival the old one would be lost sight of, which 
proved to be true. The occasion is still celebrated in some 
churches, and consecrated candles are supposed to be burned 
for protection from all evil influences for the balance of the 
year.” 

“But there are so many of those old saints days that are 
so entirely forgotten,” said Big Sister, “I wonder why Candle¬ 
mas is so universally remembered?” 

“I think our friends, the Woodchucks, are responsible 
for that,” said Somebody, with a smile. 

[17] 



^^a|iamLinco|n^ 

66TT t ’ s Lincoln’s birthday tomorrow, and we do not 
I have school,” said the boy named Billy. “But Lve 
I got to tell the class this afternoon why I think 
I 1 , Lincoln was the greatest American.” 

“Suppose you tell us what you do know about 
him,” suggested Somebody. 

“Well,” said the boy named Billy, “I know he was born 
in Hardin County, Kentucky, in a poor little old log cabin, 
on February 12th, 1809. That he lived there until he was 
seven years old, when he went with his family to Indiana, 
where they were even poorer than before. 

“His mother was never very strong, poor lady, and the 
rough way in which they had to live was very hard for her, 
and she died when Abraham was only nine years old. But 
she taught him to be good, honest and true, and Team all 
he could and be of some account in the world.’ 

[is] 










“After while, his father brought him another mother 
who was very good to him and as he said later, ‘Moved heaven 
and earth to give him an education/ His school years were 
few, but he was determined to know things, so he studied 
every minute and often walked ten miles to borrow a book. 
When he was twenty-one he owned six books, the Bible, 
Pilgrim’s Progress, the Arabian Nights, Statutes of Indiana, 
Weems ‘Life of Washington,’ and ‘Aesops Fables.’ He used 
to read after his work was done by the light of the fire on 
the family hearth. He almost memorized the Bible. 

“ He was very kindhearted and once when he went to New 
Orleans with a flat boat full of lumber to sell, he saw some 
slaves being sold. It affected him so strongly that he said 
if he ever got a chance he was going to ‘hit that thing hard!’ 
He was never idle, and he was absolutely honest, and to be 
depended upon. 

“When he was 21 he went with his parents to a wilder¬ 
ness farm in Illinois, which state almost lost him, because 
if there had not been a flood making travel impossible he, 
with his family, would have gone on to Wisconsin where they 
had started for. 

“After studying law, and practicing it for a good many 
years, and being sent to Congress he was elected to be the 
president of the United States in i860, being the 16th presi¬ 
dent of the land. He was in the presidential chair all through 
the civil war and when he was shot, soon after his second 
election, the whole country mourned for the man who had 
‘y hit that thing hard ’ and abolished slavery.” 

“Do you know his most famous address?” asked Sister. 

“Lincoln’s Gettysburg speech!” exclaimed Billy. “Well, 
I should say—‘Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers 
brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in 
liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are 
created equal. Now we are engaged in the great Civil War, 
testing whether that nation or any nation so conceived and 
dedicated can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield 

[19] 


of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field 
as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that 
that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that 
we should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, 
we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The 
brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have con¬ 
secrated it far above our power to add or detract. The world 
will little know nor long remember what we say here, but it can 
never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather 
to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who 
fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for 
us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, 
that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to 
that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devo¬ 
tion; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have 
died in vain; that this nation, under God, shall have a new 
birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the 
people, and for the people shall not perish from the earth.’ ” 

“You seem to know a good many things about Lincoln 
after all,” said Somebody, smiling proudly. 

“Yes, but I do not know why he was the ‘greatest Ameri¬ 
can’,” said Billy. 

“He was the ‘greatest American’,” said Somebody, “be¬ 
cause he loved the Union and determined that it must at all 
costs be preserved. Because he knew that ‘united we should 
stand, but that divided we must fall.’ Because his own life 
counted for nothing where the Union was concerned. Be¬ 
cause it is due to him and to him only that we are not broken 
up into small independent states, but are gathered together 
under the best flag that the sun ever shone upon. Never has 
the world seen a greater example of wisdom, patience, patri¬ 
otism and moral courage than animated his every act. Abra¬ 
ham Lincoln is our greatest American because he stood for 
honesty, loyalty, affection, willing service, and striving after 
every kind of good.” 

“I’ve got it now,” said the boy named Billy. 

[ 20] 


^ABotAt^aferttiytegT 



ILL you mail these Valentines for me please, 
Billy ?” asked Big Sister. 

“Sure,” said Billy. “Gee, that re- 
* minds me, we're going to have a Valentine 
box at school and I better get some to give 


‘It’ 


s a 


Bob White, and Pete and Jack—what a bunch 
of them you're sending—do you send Valen¬ 
tines to all the people you know?'' 

“No, indeed,'' said Big Sister, “only to 
those whom I know best and care most about.” 
funny custom,'' said Billy, “who ever started it 


any how?” 

“I think it's a splendid custom—a friendly, cheerful way 
to say ‘Hello, I'm thinking about you,’ ” said Big Sister, “and 
I'm much obliged to old St. Valentine for beginning it.” 

“Did he start it?” asked the boy named Billy in surprise, 
“you wouldn't think a saint would be bothering his head 
about such things as Valentines .” 

“As a matter of fact,” said Somebody, “St. Valentine 
had nothing to do with it. He was a most pious man who 
went about his business with no thought of any thing frivo¬ 
lous I'm sure. He very likely did not know that he had been 
chosen as the patron saint of the day. 

“It was the custom in ancient Rome to celebrate the 
feasts of Lupercalia through the month of February in honor 
of Pan and Juno and these feasts were very gay, indeed. 
There was a custom of the young Pagans by means of which 
they chose their dancing partners for the day, of writing the 


[21] 





He was a pioxxs lMLa.tr wit£v 


no 


Thought of anyttxiytg fVivofou.s 














































name of a young man and a young woman and having a 
drawing. The young man keeping the young lady whose 
name he had drawn, as his partner for the day. 

“The Christian Pastors of the churches objected to this 
fun making and so they put the names of Priests in the boxes 
to be drawn in place of the young women, and St. Valentine’s 
name came out as the guardian or saint of the day. 

“He was accepted as such, but the young people went 
on celebrating the day in the way to which they were accus¬ 
tomed and out of that grew the idea of Valentine’s day.” 

“That was a jolly way for it to start, wasn’t it?” ex¬ 
claimed the boy named Billy. 

“When did people begin sending Valentine messages to 
each other?” asked Big Sister. 

“In early times in England and very likely also in other 
parts of the world,” said Somebody, “it was the custom to 
send a gift to the one who had been chosen as a young man’s 
Valentine. This custom grew more popular year by year, 
until, as the gifts must be worth while, it very likely grew 
burdensome, and the sending of gifts was in a manner dis¬ 
continued. Then some bright person hit upon the plan of 
sending dainty creations made of lace paper with bright and witty 
verses written on them. Even that custom was about worn 
out when some one in England sent a lacy affair to Miss 
Esther Howland of Worcester, Massachusetts, who saw in it 
a way to make some money; so she started making Valen¬ 
tines for sale, and succeeded so well that the making of them 
and the sale of them has grown to be a very great and im¬ 
portant industry.” 

“So poor old St. Valentine just had the day wished on 
him,” said the boy named Billy. “What ever did become 
of him?” 

“He offended someone,” said Somebody, “and was 
beheaded.” 

“Playful, weren’t they?” said the boy named Billy, as 
he gathered up the Valentines. 

[23] 





celebrate 


^j eor g e"Waakirt d tortg 

^ ^T|J) * j'f f 

iiPiytncLa y 



^ HE BOY named Billy came into the room to say 
goodbye to Somebody before going to the 
celebration of George Washington’s birthday 
at the schoolhouse. 

“Your face has some black streaks on it, 
Billy,” said Somebody. “Better go and remove 
them and come back and tell me about it.” 

“I don’t like to talk about it,” said the 
boy named Billy, as he came back from the 
wash room. “Mom scolded me.” 

“What was it all about?” asked Some¬ 
body. 

“I left my cap on the living room table 
again. Mom found it there and she held it up for me to see 
and said, ‘William!’ ” 

Somebody tried not to smile. “That was severe! But 
George Washington was often reproved by his mother.” 

“George Washington,” said the boy named Billy, in 
astonishment. “Did anyone ever scold George Washington?” 

“Indeed, yes,” said Somebody, “and in a very unique 
way, too. Mary Ball Washington was a wonderful woman, 
with quantities of good sense and a remarkable idea of truth 
and justice. It is said of her that when her children dis¬ 
obeyed, or were in need of being reprimanded that she did 
not trust herself to do it in her own language, but that she 
always used the words of the Bible.” 

[24] 

























“That was a queer way to scold,” said Billy. 

“It worked judging from what we know of George and 
his boyhood,” remarked Somebody. “When he was fourteen 
he wished to go to sea, but as his mother thought it best that 
he should not, he abandoned the idea and was given two addi¬ 
tional years of schooling, chiefly in mathematics, and so pre¬ 
pared himself for the profession of a surveyor.” 

“Sixteen, and finishing school!” exclaimed the boy named 
Billy. 

“School was rather a different affair in George Wash¬ 
ington’s day,” said Somebody. “He was born in the country, 
at a small place named Bridges Creek, Virginia, on the 
twenty second of February, 1732, and at that time the coun¬ 
try was very small and had few schools.” 

“It must have been fun being a surveyor,” said Billy. 

“It was not much fun, Billy Boy,” Somebody told him. 
“It was a severe test of character and capacity, but George 
Washington always accomplished every task given him with 
success, and reported on it with brevity and modesty. 

“The traits of steadfastness of character which he had 
displayed in school and among his playmates now came out 
prominently. He excelled in running, wrestling, and horse¬ 
back riding in his youth and in later years, because of his 
wisdom, patience, tolerance, courage and consecration to the 
righteous cause of liberty became the father of his country.” 

“My but his mother must have been proud of him,” 
said Billy. 

Somebody nodded. “It was to his mother, a woman of 
strong and devoted character, that George Washington owed 
his moral and religious training. Even when her son had 
risen to the height of human greatness, she would only say, 
‘George has been a good boy, and I’m sure he will do his 
duty.’ ” 

“Guess I better tell Mom I’m sorry about leaving my 
hat on the living room table,” said the boy named Billy. 

“I would if I were you,” said Somebody. 

[25] 



ABoxxt 

Box 

Scoxit^ 



|ET MY new Scout suit,” said the boy named Billy, 
coming in with himself all in khaki. “Look at 
the buttons, ’n the leggins ’n all! 

“It's very Scouty looking,” said Big Sister. 
“I hope you’ll keep it that way.” 

“Have to,” said the boy named Billy, “or 
get a demerit. Going for drill now over on the parade ground 
in front of the armory. Got just long enough for Somebody 
to tell me when and where the Boy Scout movement started.” 

“The Boy Scout movement,” said Somebody, “started 
in England in 1908 being launched by Sir Robert S. S. Baden 
Powell.” 

“Oh say!” exclaimed the boy named Billy, “why did 
we have to let England beat us to it?” 

“We didn’t—exactly,” said Somebody, smiling at the 
zeal of the young patriot, “because at that very time we had 
two organizations which had the same purpose in view. One 
was called the Wood-Craft Indians founded by Ernest Seton 
Thompson, and another called the Sons of Daniel Boone 
founded by Dan Beard. Both men were popular writers of 
out of door stories, and greatly interested in boys and their 
sports and activities. 

“Scouting gives a boy something to do, something he 
likes to do, something worth doing. It has succeeded in doing 
what no other plan of education has done—made the boy want 
to learn. It organizes the gang spirit into group loyalty. 

[26] 





“In 1910 both these organizations were combined under 
the title of the Boy Scouts of America, and as you of course 
know, Billy Boy, before a boy can become a Scout he must 
take the Scout oath of office.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said the boy named Billy. “Wait, 'til I 
see if I’m up on that. 'On my honor I will do my best—To 
do my duty to God and my country, and to obey the scout 
law; to help other people at all times; to keep myself physi¬ 
cally strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.’ 

“A scout is required to know the Scout oath and law and 
subscribe to both. But his obligation does not end here. He 
is expected not only not to forget his oath and law, but to live 
up to them in letter and spirit from first to last.” 

“Fine!” said Somebody. “That sounds like a perfectly 
good working rule. Now what are some of your ideals as 
Scouts?” 

“Well,” said Billy, “we’re divided into three classes. 
Tenderfoot, that’s what Bob White and I are as yet, but 
we’ll grow—second class Scouts and first class. According to 
Scout law one must have honor, loyalty, unselfishness, friend¬ 
liness, hatred of snobbishness, must be courteous, be really 
kind to animals, and always obedient to fathers and mothers 
’n Somebodys, be gentle, fair minded, save money, look out 
for fires and clean up after oneself.” 

“On account of that last item, thanks be that you joined 
the Scouts, Billy,” said Big Sister, “and just to help you 
along, suppose you run up and wash the bowl where you just 
washed your hands.” 

“Oh, excuse me, Sis!” said the boy named Billy, “I guess 
I forgot, but I won’t after this. 

“I’m going to have a lesson on first aid this morning, 
so if you ever get a sprained ankle or anything I can hold 
the lines until the doctor gets here. S’long.” 

“All of which means that I scrub up after the youngster 
myself,” said Big Sister, “but Billy’s a pretty good scout at 
that.” 


[27] 



,§amtl?atriclk.s'Il;ay^ 

£f ArS)OB WHITE'S going to march in the St. Patrick's 
s j| day parade," said the boy named Billy, “and 
* that leaves me without a thing to do, unless 
Somebody will tell me who St. Patrick was and 
why all Irish people think so much of him." 

“Strange as it may seem," said Somebody, 
“St. Patrick was not an Irishman at all, but was 
by birth a Scotchman, having been born in Scotland about 
372. When he was sixteen or seventeen years old he was 
stolen by Pirates and taken to Ireland and made to work at 
herding swine. He was a very studious boy and in the seven 
years that he remained a swineherd he learned the Irish 
language and the customs of the people. 

“He then made up his mind that swineherding was not 
the right sort of occupation for a bright-minded youth like 
himself, so he escaped to the Continent, where after more 
years of study he was ordained by Pope Celestine and sent 
back to Ireland to preach Christianity to the people. 

“ But the old priests did not like him. He was very likely 
too bright for them, and they persecuted him, and made 
things very uncomfortable for him. Finally he was obliged to 
leave there, but before he went he cursed the lands of the other 
priests so that they would not bear crops, just to even up 
things. 

“He was none too comfortable himself, but he did not 
mind small discomforts because one cold and snowy morning 

[28] 




Tffyyxk jxist tRen aix^rt g el catrte 























when they were on the top of a mountain with no fire to cook 
their breakfast St. Patrick told his followers to gather a great 
pile of snowballs, and when that had been done he breathed 
upon them and immediately there was a great glowing fire, 
and they got breakfast very nicely. This and other miracles 
made him very popular, and so when the scourge of snakes 
came he was sent for and begged to disperse the reptiles. 

“ ‘Easy/ said St. Patrick, ‘bring me a drum/ When the 
drum came he began beating it with such vim and vigor that 
he broke its head, and it looked for a time as though the trick 
would fail. But just then an angel came and mended the drum 
and the snakes were forever banished. Just to prove it they 
kept the drum for many centuries. 

“These and other marvels were performed by St. Patrick, 
who lived to be 121 years old, dying on his birthday, March 
17th, 492.” 

“Historians have relegated many stories about Saint 
Patrick to the realm of myth, but the shamrock remains the 
emblem of Ireland, proudly worn by Irishmen the world over 
on Saint Patrick’s Day, March seventeenth. The true sham¬ 
rock (in Irish seamrog, meaning “three-leaved”) is the hop 
clover, which much resembles our common white clover, 
except that the flower is yellow instead of blue-green. Large 
shipments of shamrocks are brought to the United States for 
Saint Patrick’s Day.” 

“ So the shamrock is the National emblem of Irish people,” 
said Billy. 

“Yes,” said Somebody. “And it is said that no snake can 
live where it grows. 

“Perhaps if one will take the trouble to think it out, one 
may find in that belief the idea of faith and loyalty and love of 
country for which the Irish people are noted, and that em¬ 
blematically it means that no traitor to Ireland can live near 
the Shamrock.” 

“I see,” said the boy named Billy, “they feel as we do 
about our Eagle, don’t they?” 



66 “Y\ A T ISH I had somebody to go skating with,” 
/said Billy one winter afternoon. 
yf yf “Where's Bob White?” asked Big 

Sister looking up from her book. 

“It’s Ash-Wednesday, and his folks are Catholics,” said 
the boy named Billy, “and they have after school services. 
What is Ash-Wednesday and what does it mean, any way?” 

“Ash-Wednesday,” said Somebody, “is the beginning of 
Lent, which lasts forty days and ends with the Saturday 
before Easter Sunday. It is supposed to commemorate the 
forty days fasting Christ did before His Crucifixion.” 

“My,” said the boy named Billy, “I never could fast 
forty hours let alone forty days! How is it supposed to help 
a person to go without food for so long?” 

“Fasting,” said Somebody, “is to teach the lesson of self 
restraint, and self control, and to help us endure discomforts 
without complaining, how to refrain from all unkind thoughts 
of others, to control our tempers and make us better people 
generally. 

“It's a very good idea for each one of us to give up some¬ 
thing during Lent; something that we like very much indeed, 
and to give the money that it would have cost to some one 
who really needs food and comforts.” 

“Do you do that?” asked the boy named Billy. 

CC I try to,” said Somebody. 

“Oh, I see!” said the boy named Billy. 

[31] 









IPatm, Sixncfa^ 

66/^mOMORROW ls Sunday,"’ said the boy 

I named Billy. “Why do some churches give the 
people palm branches to carry?” 

“On the Sunday preceding the crucifixion 
Christ made his triumphal entrance into Jeiusalem. All the 
people came out to meet him, strewing palm branches in his 
path to do him honor, just as you school children all cheer 
when the president, or some great hero comes to town.” 

“Jerusalem is a warm country and must have many 
beautiful flowers,” said the boy named Billy. “Why didn’t 
they bring flowers instead of stiff, rusty palm branches?” 

“Because they wished to show him all honor,” said 
Somebody. “And the palm was their emblem of joy and 
peace and victory. His goodness and power were beginning 
to have their effect on the minds of the people. They were 
beginning to believe that Jesus was really the Christ whom 
their forefathers had promised would come and bring them 
comfort, peace and general good tidings.” 

The boy named Billy looked puzzled. “So they hailed 
him on Palm Sunday and crucified him the following Friday!” 

Somebody nodded. “Human praise and opinion is like 
that—it is always a variable thing full of chance and change 
—unstable—but Jesus wasn’t moved for a moment by the 
praise and flattery of the people, because he knew what was 
in store for him in Jerusalem. He knew that Judas Iscariot, 
one of his own disciples, would betray him to the chief priests 
and magistrates who hated him, because they were afraid he 
would convert the people and uncover their own wickedness. 
Christ Jesus knew that he must suffer violence at the hands 
of those who hated goodness so that he might prove beyond 
shadow of doubt, by his resurrection, that love is greater than 
hate—that love is always victorious, because God is Love.” 

“I think this is the best really-so story of all!” said Billy. 
[ 3 a] 





§) tO**V of t&e MlMe 


“B 

\.t./././ 



/it 


1 1 '\ 


ILLY,” called Big Sister one Saturday evening, 
“want to go to the movies?" 

“Can't, thank you, Sis," called back the 
boy named Billy. “Got to study my Sunday 
School lesson." 

After a half hour of deep study the boy 
named Billy put the book on the table and said, 
“That's great stuff, that story of David and 
Goliath. Who wrote the Bible, please? It was 


written by someone, was it not?" 

“There were many sacred books written by many dif¬ 
ferent men at many different periods of the world's history," 
said Somebody, “which were accepted as the inspired Word 
of God. 

“At first these were put out as separate volumes, but 
after a long time they were gathered together and bound 
into one volume. 

“The books of the Old Testament were originally written 
in Hebrew and those of the New Testament in Greek. Think 
of the labor of love it must have been to make copies of the 
Bible. In those days it all had to be done by hand as printing 
was not invented until a thousand years after the new Testa¬ 
ment was written." 

“Some undertaking," said the boy named Billy. “Were 
all other books made the same way?" 

“Yes, indeed," said Somebody, “a book was a priceless 
possession in those days, and there's not much wonder that 
there were very few scholars—only priests and physicians 
had the leisure to become learned, even if they could have 
obtained the books from which to study." 

“The Bible we have is then a translation," said the boy 
named Billy. 

“The Bible was translated into various languages," said 

[ 33 1 








Somebody, “but the first English version was translated 
from the Latin by a priest named John Wycliffe, of Lutter¬ 
worth, England. He believed that the Bible belonged to 
everybody and should be put into such form that everyone 
could read it. But instead of being thanked and made much 
of for the very great service he was doing he was put out of 
the church and called a heretic for daring to meddle with 
the word of God—which did not stop his work at all, because 
he finished it. After his death no one did any more about 
it for a hundred years or so until Johan Guttenberg discovered 
the art of printing, and when in 1454 the use of movable type 
was found possible many copies of the Bible were printed 
and everyone could have his own. 

“In 1516 Erasmus, a learned Greek scholar, published 
the New Testament, which was translated by William Tyn- 
dale, who was so persecuted by those who did not want it 
published that he was obliged to go to Germany to finish 
his work; even there he was so hampered that it was not 
until 1525 that the New Testament was finally printed. 

“Merely as literature, it has made a deeper impression 
upon the human mind than has any other book, and the extent 
to which it has helped shape the world’s ideas cannot be 
estimated. No matter how much you know of poetry or 
prose, you cannot consider yourself well read unless you are 
thoroughly acquainted with the Bible.” 

“It is wonderful that the language has been kept so beau¬ 
tiful after all those translations and copyings,” said the boy 
named Billy. 

“Very likely it was changed a good bit,” said Somebody, 
“but its wonderful message of Truth has not been changed.” 

“I don’t know where there’s another story like that of 
David,” said Billy, “and the one about Joseph’s coat has 
any one of the six best sellers beaten a mile.” 

“Perhaps you’ll like to know,” said Somebody, “that 
the Bible, year in and year out is THE best seller.” 

“I don’t wonder,” said the boy named Billy. 

[34] 



CyoocJ Frictajr. 

^OMORROW will be Good Friday,” said the boy 
named Billy. “That is the day on which Christ 
Jesus was crucified, wasn't it, Somebody?” 

“Yes,” said Somebody, “and is why it is 
remembered by us all in one way or another—by church 
services, or in our thoughts.” 

“Of course I know the story,” said the boy named Billy, 
“but won't you please tell it over again?” 

“Early in the morning Christ Jesus prayed to God, his 
Father, saying that his mission had been accomplished (you'll 
find this beautiful prayer in the seventeenth chapter of St. 
John's gospel, Billy boy). Then he went into the Garden of 
Gethsemane with his disciples. Judas Iscariot, the disciple 
who betrayed Jesus, knew the place where he would be and 
went there with a band of men and officers from the chief 
priests and Pharisees. (The Pharisees were narrow minded 
people who paid excessive regard to empty tradition and dead 
ceremonies. They observed the form, but neglected the spirit 
of religion.) 

“Jesus was arrested, and brought before the Sanhedrin, 
the Jewish council of priests and elders. After a hasty trial 
they pronounced him guilty of death for blasphemy. They 
said ‘we have a law, and by our law he ought to die, because 
he made himself the Son of God.' St. John 19:7. And He 

[35] 





was the Son of God, sent by the loving Father to bring under¬ 
standing to the people so they might obey and love God and 
know the blessing of trusting Him always. 

“Then the council of priests and elders delivered Jesus 
to Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor. Pilate didn’t sympa¬ 
thize with the wishes of the people. He said, “I find in him 
no fault at all” But the people insisted that he give him 
up to be crucified, so he washed his hands to show them that 
he took no responsibility in the affair whatsoever. And they 
took Jesus away—put a crown of thorns on his head, and 
followed him with taunts and abuse of every kind as he, 
bearing his cross, led the way to Golgotha, the place of his 
execution. 

“There on that never to be forgotten Calvary, Christ 
Jesus was crucified with a criminal on either side. 

“Jesus’ body was taken from the cross and placed in a 
tomb by Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus. Three days 
later, on the first day of the week, when some of the women 
came with spices to embalm the body, they found the tomb 
empty. An angel who kept watch told them that Christ had 
risen from the dead. The risen Christ appeared first to Mary 
Magdalene, the once sinful woman from whom Jesus had cast 
out seven devils, and who had become one of the most devoted 
of his followers; and then to others who were close to him. He 
spent forty days on earth after his resurrection, and then from 
the midst of his disciples he was taken up to heaven. He left 
no writings and no organized church. But from recollections 
of his teachings his followers later put together the record of 
his ministry, as we have it in the New Testament, and with it 
there slowly took shape also the organized Christian church, 
which more and more has ruled men’s lives.” 

“I wish I had been there,” said the boy named Billy, 
“I could have helped some way, I know.” 

“You can help every day, Billy Boy,” said Somebody, 
“by being kind to everybody, and doing unto others just 
the thoughtful, loving things you want others to do unto you.” 

[36] 



.Alooxit Master 


66^ \REN’T my hands a sight!” laughed the boy named 
Billy. “Wish Somebody would tell me how to get 
jLk_ these colors off.” 

“I should say they are a sight,” said Somebody; “all the 
colors of the rainbow and several more besides. What’s on 
them?” 


“Easter egg dyes,” said Billy; “they splashed, but we 
got some beauties.” 

“Try some salt and vinegar and a nail brush and soap,” 
said Somebody. “You’ll find some on my wash stand.” 

The boy named Billy scrubbed with right good will. 
c Tt’s coming off,” he said. “Say, Somebody, please tell me 
why Easter doesn’t stand still, like Christmas and New 
Year’s Day. What makes it come in March one year, and 
likely as not in April the next? A day is a day, isn’t it? 
Then why do we never know when to look for it? Last year 
we gathered pussy willows, and this year it’s cold enough to 
skate.” 

“It is puzzling until you understand about it,” said 
Somebody, as Billy came back with his hands as clean as could 
be expected. “Let’s talk about it. There seems to be no 
authentic record of the actual date of Christ’s death and burial 
and resurrection. We know that the Crucifixion was on Fri¬ 
day, and the Resurrection was on Sunday, but the date has 
never been accounted for, although Easter has been celebrated 

[37] 






as a church festival since the early days of the Christian 
church. 

“To settle all such disputes it was finally decided by the 
Council of Nicaea in 325 A. D. that the celebration of the 
festival commemorating the Resurrection should fall on the 
first Sunday after March 21st and the full moon.” 

“And why was the festival called Easter?” asked the boy 
named Billy. 

“It is a sort of made-over festival,” said Somebody. 
“The early Christians called it the Paschal festival, and it 
was so called until the Christian religion was introduced 
among the Saxons, who had a Spring festival themselves of 
which they were very fond, held in honor of their Spring god¬ 
dess Eostre. They seemed inclined to like the new religion, 
but refused to give up their goddess, so the Christians decided 
to keep the festival and the name, but to use it in com¬ 
memoration of the resurrection of Christ.” 

“ Who was this lady named Eostre ? ” asked the boy named 
Billy. “She must have been pretty important.” 

“Eostre, meaning ‘from the East, or Venus, the goddess 
of beauty/ was supposed to have been hatched by doves 
from an immense egg which descended from heaven and 
rested on the Euphrates. Out of it came the goddess of 
Spring and of beauty to bring warmth and sunshine into the 
world,” said Somebody. 

“That must be where the idea of the Easter egg comes 
from,” said the boy named Billy. “I was wondering about 
that. IPs interesting; tell me some more.” 

“There are many beautiful legends concerning Easter,” 
said Somebody. “One which was quite generally believed in 
Ireland was that on Easter morning the sun dances. But of 
course we take that with a grain of salt.” 

“Just as we take our Easter eggs,” laughed the boy 
named Billy. “Thank you so much, Somebody; and now 
I’ll run and get some flowers for Mother. I’m going to get 
her a beautiful Easter lily.” 


r 38 ] 


TPraiti rtgJWlWttxs Jlfc 




EE what I’ve got for Mom,” said the boy 
i ^jP named Billy bursting into Somebody’s room 
one bright morning in the latter part of 
April. “May Flowers! Beauties! Found 
them away over in the pine woods just 


peeping out from under a snow bank.” 


“Beauties indeed,” agreed Somebody, 
“I’m glad you cut them so carefully. Most children do not 
understand the importance of cutting wild flowers instead of 
tearing them up by the roots.” 

“I ought to understand it unless Im a dunce” laughed 
Billy, “you and Mom tell me about it often enough. But 
why is it called Mayflower when it always comes in April? 
Of course I know its real name is Trailing Arbutus.” 

“The Mayflower,” said Somebody, “is spring’s first mes¬ 
senger wherever it will grow, and its appearance is governed 
by the length of the winter, and not by the calendar. I’ve 
heard of it in the Rocky Mountains in August. It seems not 
to be able to live in very warm places, but loves to snuggle 
its blossom children under the snows of winter, who, when 
they awake push aside the blankets and creep out to tell the 
world that spring has come. 

“And small as it is,” went on Somebody, “the dear little 
pink flower has made history for itself. It was the first flower 
to welcome the Pilgrim Fathers and Mothers to the new world 
and as spring, on the bleak coast of Massachusetts, is a late 
comer, it probably appeared in May, and was christened May¬ 
flower by the pioneers who knew no other name for it. Any¬ 
way it was very welcome to those poor people who had come 
through so many hardships, with its glorious message that the 
long and cruel winter was over.” 








“Was the boat named after the flower or the other way 
around?” asked the boy named Billy. 

“I think it must have been that the flower was named 
after the boat,” answered Somebody, “as the Mayflower was 
the boat they came over in—a little sailing vessel of one 
hundred and eighty tons. Yet no other ship’s arrival has 
had such significance as that of this little vessel, which brought 
the Pilgrim Fathers to America in 1620. The sailing of the 
Mayflower meant a great deal to the future of mankind, 
because the Pilgrim Fathers formed the compact that estab¬ 
lished the government of the people, by the people, and for the 
people. It is well known that they loved the little posie, the 
first thing that welcomed them with a smile of hopefulness.” 

“Why do we not try to cultivate it in our gardens?” 

“It starves in gardens,” said Somebody, “very likely be¬ 
cause its needs are not studied. Science has found that it has 
upon its roots a friendly fungus which nourishes it. And this 
friend refuses to live in the soil of the ordinary garden. Ex¬ 
periments have been made with soils, and seed from the May¬ 
flower fruit has been olanted and has made some progress, so 
I’ve heard.” 

“I did not know that the flower had a fruit,” said the 
boy named Billy. 

“I have seen only a few,” said Somebody. “It is a small 
fruit which tastes not unlike a strawberry. Mrs. Ant knows 
all about it, and it is very likely due to her that you find the 
flower in places where it never has been found before.” 

“So,” said the boy named Billy, “when one tries to pro¬ 
vide a new home for Lady Trailing Arbutus, one must not 
only please her very dainty tastes but those of her friends.” 

“You’ll never get very far with flowers or friends, Billy 
Boy,” said Somebody, “unless you study them very carefully 
and try with all your heart to understand them.” 

Billy grinned. “What time do you look for Mayflower 
fruit?” said he. 

“Along about wild strawberry time,” said Somebody. 

[ 4 o] 


























JTY,” sa ^ t ^ le b°y name d Billy. “I nearly 
broke my tooth on the bone of this oyster. 

I I I Isn’t it funny? It’s as round as a shot and 

just as hard.” 

Everybody laughed, but Somebody said, “That isn’t a 
bone, Billy; old Mr. Oyster has no bones. That’s a pearl. Too 
bad you didn’t find it before it was cooked, because then you 
might have had it set in a pin to wear in your scarf. Now that 
it has been cooked, it is worthless.” 

“I’m in luck, anyhow,” said Billy, “because I didn’t 
break my tooth. But how did a pearl ever get inside an 
oyster?” 

“It makes its home there,” said Somebody. “Lives 
snugly year after year inside Mr. Oyster’s shell and pays no 
rent at all.” 

“Tell me about it,” demanded the boy named Billy. “I 
always supposed that pearls grew at the bottom of the sea.” 

“So they do,” said Somebody, “about fifteen fathoms 
deep is where the pearl bearing oyster lives. He is rather 
particular about his home and selects a place where there is a 
swift current of water. There he and his family lie on the 
hard bed of the ocean and wait for the current to bring 
their food. Sometimes they prefer to attach themselves to 
an overhanging ledge, where they live closely huddled to¬ 
gether. The ancient peoples had all sorts of beliefs and ideas 
about the origin of the pearl. One of the most poetical was 

[42] 






that it was made from a drop of dew which the oyster came up 
to the top of the ocean to get. Another was that pearls were 
the tears of angels who wept over the sorrows of the world.” 

“But what are they really?” asked the boy named Billy, 
his eyes big with interest. 

“Science has discovered,” said Somebody, “that Mr. 
Oyster accidentally gets a grain of sand, or a small insect 
inside his shell, which becomes uncomfortable; but as the 
oyster has no way of opening his door and putting an unwel¬ 
come guest outside, it remains. Very likely the unwelcome 
guest hurts. So Mr. Oyster says, 'All right, then stay if you 
want to. But you can’t go on hurting me if I know myself.’ 
And so he builds a wall of the stuff that the inside of his shell 
is made of between himself and the cause of the trouble. 
After about four years the oyster is likely to be caught by 
pearl fishers, the pearl found, and the shell used for inlaid 
work on boxes, knife handles and other things. 

“The finest pearls are gathered in the East, the most 
valuable, worth tens of thousands of dollars, coming from the 
oysters of the Persian Gulf. The largest pearl fishery in 
America is that of lower California, from which come the 
largest and the finest black pearls on the market. 

“Carl von Linne, the great Swedish naturalist and bot¬ 
anist, discovered that pearls could be grown by opening the 
shell of the oyster and slipping a small bead of lead or wax 
inside the shell and then putting the oyster back in his bed 
for three or four years. Acting upon that idea, the Chinese 
and Japanese people have established great pearl raising 
industries and turn out a large amount of pearls every year. 
They are very pretty, and of good color, but being flat on one 
side they cannot be made into necklaces. In several of our 
states the fresh water clams are pearl bearers; the Mississippi 
River industry being the one of most value. The shells are used 
for pearl buttons and the flesh of the mussels are fed to the pigs.” 

“Makes you think of that verse in the Bible about casting 
your pearls before swine, doesn’t it?” laughed Billy. 

[43 ] 




out 


JMLi*. JMtys: lPeficayt 


AID Pelican quite pleasantly, 

‘Come little fish and play with me’; 

) Said little fishie in a fright, 

‘I’ve heard about your appetite,' ” 

read the boy named Billy from little Sister's Bird Children 
book. “Wise little fishie wasn’t he youngster?” said he. 
“Why is a Pelican anyway—he isn’t good to be eaten and his 
feathers aren't worth anything, and he doesn't do anything 
except to eat fish in great quantities, at least that is all I’ve 
ever heard about.” 

“Long ago,” said Somebody, “when the first expeditions 
went across the Colorado desert which had been, until the 
Colorado River cut it off, a part of the Gulf of California, 
some one remarked that if the desert could be watered it 
could be made to raise food enough for a nation. There was 
the Colorado River going to waste, of course, but how to 
harness it up and make it provide water for the desert which 
it had made was a question which no one could answer. 

“But along in 1904 it was decided to make the attempt 
to turn a part of the river back into its old bed and make it 
work. The river wasn't quite ready to go back and when 
she did she meant to go in her own sweet way—but if they 
wanted her to back into that old bed, why back she would 
go—and, taking things in her own mighty hands, back she 

[44 ] 










did go with a rush. There was that old Salton Sea Sink— 
she would first fill that up, and from there it would be easy to 
give the people all the water they wanted on the desert. 

“This was serious! There was a railroad in her track— 
but what did that matter—people wanted water and water 
she would give them. It was a Nation’s work to stop that 
runaway river, but at last it was done, and lo and behold 
—there was that lovely little sea shining like a jewel in the 
middle of the desert. They eventually made the Colorado 
give them water enough besides to water the desert which is 
now called the Imperial Valley where rice and fruit and cotton 
and many other things are raised.” 

“That is interesting,” said the boy named Billy. “But 
where does Mr. Pelican fit in?” 

“Right here,” said Somebody. “For along about this 
time very probably along came Mr. and Mrs. Brown Pelican 
looking for a home. And here was a lovely sea with lots of 
dear little islands in it just big enough for two. But after they 
had started their nest they discovered that their private sea 
had no fish in it. Very probably Brown Pelican said they 
would move back to the coast, but that Mrs. Pelican wouldn’t 
listen to him but said, ‘Here we have a whole ocean all to our¬ 
selves; let’s raise our own fish—we’ll go right now and bring 
back our pockets full of mullets and plant them.’ So they 
did with the result that the Salton Sea is now one of the most 
important fisheries in the state of California.” 

“That’s some story,” said the boy named Billy. “But is 
it a Really So one?” 

“According to scientists it is,” said Somebody. “The 
Pelican has long been known to be the best friend of the game 
warden, which is why he is protected. He is supposed to 
carry fish to inland streams and ponds which otherwise would 
not have them.” 

“Well, he should advertise,” said the boy named Billy, 
“nobody knows how useful he is.” 

“Perhaps he is too modest,” said Somebody. 

[45] 




TJoey t>etieve(£ iW^lIotu;teyg, 

artdT Witc£ue£ 























Ija^iartlPa v 

66/>nrp^OMORROW is In- 
dian Day,” said the 
B boy named Billy, 

“and there isn’t going to be any school; we’re all 
going out to see their games and get acquainted; 
anybody seen my scout suit ? It isn’t in my closet.” 

“It has gone to the cleaner’s,” said Mother. 
“I knew you’d want it tomorrow and so I sent it 
out; it will be back this afternoon.” 

“Thanks, Mom,” said Billy, “you always do 
think of everything. Why are the Indians called 
Indian ? Did they name themselves that the way 
other people do?” 

“No,” said Somebody. “That was the name 
Columbus gave to the natives when he reached the 
islands and mainland of our country under the 
impression that he had arrived at the coast of 
Asia, which he had set out to find.” 

“How did those people ever come to be here?” 

“It is supposed,” said Somebody, “that they had crossed 
from Asia to Alaska, and were cut off* in some way from return¬ 
ing and so drifted inland and started colonies which prospered 
until it spread across the whole continent. Some may have 
come from China, and there is even a tradition that some were 
from the lost tribes of Israel, but no one really knows. All we 
know is that if they were not really natives of this land that 
they must have come from somewhere and that they had 
degenerated into savages or had never been lifted above it. 

[47] 



















“ But take it all in all they were pretty good savages until 
they were aroused by the whites; they had laws of their own, 
and a religion, and real languages distinguishing the different 
tribes; they had kings and principalities, and the Great Spirit 
was very real to them. To the Indian everything in Nature 
had a real personality and was inhabited by a spirit either 
good or bad. 

“They believed in monsters, and fairies and witches. The 
women were the only ones who could declare war, and when 
prisoners were brought in they had the right to adopt them 
into the tribe, or if they did not like them to send them to 
death.” 

“Sweet and gentle ladies, weren't they?” said the boy 
named Billy. “I'm glad that they're just folks nowadays.” 

“I’m glad also,” said Somebody, “and this move to have 
a day set aside for the purpose of getting better acquainted is 
a move in the right direction.” 

“I wonder who thought of doing that,” asked the boy 
named Billy. “The idea of having a day set apart for the 
celebration of the deeds of the red race belongs to Mr. A. C. 
Parker, State Archaeologist of New York, who launched it at 
the National Conference at Denver; but no date being set at 
that time it was later taken up at the Lawrence Kansas con¬ 
ference, when President Coolidge of the Society of American 
Indians moved to have May 13th appointed as Indian Day, 
which was done. The different states, in addition to this, have 
nearly all set apart days of their own as Indian days. That of 
Illinois being September 4th.” 

“We folks in America do get around to doing our duty in 
time, if you give us time enough,” said the boy named Billy. 

“It was high time in this case,” said Somebody. 

“Sure was,” said Billy, “I'm going to get acquainted 
with some Indian about my own age and get some pointers 
about how to use that bow and arrow Uncle Ned brought me 
from out west!” 


Us] 




d6 7 T N THAT direction," the cat said, wav¬ 
ing his right paw, “lives the hatter. 
And in that direction/' waving the 
other paw around, “lives a March hare. 
Visit either you like—they're both mad!" 

The boy named Billy was reading aloud 
from Alice in Wonderland, and when he had finished this 
sentence he looked up, keeping his place with his finger shut in 
the book, and said, “I know what a March hare would be; it 
would mean any old hare in the month of March, very likely, 
but what's a hatter? Is it a real animal, or a madeup creature, 
like the Unicorn or the Dodo Bird, or is it just a man who sells 
hats, as a grocer does groceries?" 

“You've come very close to the real meaning of it," said 
Somebody, “for a hatter, as I see it, is one who makes hats." 

“Why, of course," said the boy named Billy, “if I'd taken 
time to think a little about it I'd have known. When did 
people begin to wear hats, anyway, and what made them do 
it? They're a great bother—always blowing off when one is 
out-of-doors and having to be hung up when one is indoors— 
they're no good except to keep one's head warm and hair 
would do that if we gave it a chance." 

“Up to a certain point, Billy," laughed Somebody, “if 
[49] 













hair would only stay on as well as hats do even, I’m sure every¬ 
body would agree with you, but hair does not stay put in a 
good many cases, and hats are far better and much less 
trouble than it would be to wear wigs. No, I think the hat is 
a very useful invention. 

“In fact, it is said that the earliest form of hat was a sort 
of hood which was tied on over the head to keep the hair from 
blowing ‘every which way/ as it was common for both men and 
women to wear the hair long and to allow it to hang loosely.” 

“When did the kind of hats that we wear begin to be 
stylish?” 

“About the time men began to cut their hair short, I 
suppose,” said Somebody. “The chimney-pot hat, from 
which all the other shapes grew, is only a little more than a 
hundred years old.” 

“What are hats made of?” asked Billy. “I don’t mean 
ladies’ hats, of course, they are made of everything, but the 
kind we men wear.” 

Somebody smiled. “The kind you men wear are made 
of various things. The very fine ones are made from Beaver 
fur and Coney fur, and Molly Cotton Tail furnishes material 
for a great many with her long hair which is chopped very 
fine, and some are made entirely of wool. The braid for the 
straw hats comes almost entirely from Italy, China and Japan, 
but is sewed and blocked in this country.” 

“Do we make many hats here?” asked Billy. 

“Yes, indeed,” said Somebody, “making hats was one of 
our earliest and most profitable industries. In 1675 laws 
were passed prohibiting the sale of Raccoon fur outside the 
provinces, because they were so valuable to the hatters, and 
it has grown into one of our greatest industries.” 

“Well,” said the boy named Billy, “I know now what a 
hatter is, but I still do not know what he was mad about?” 

“That was just a figure of speech,” said Somebody, 
“meaning that he was not quite right in his head!” 

“Oh!” said the boy named Billy, going on with the story. 

[ 50] 


1 Wft'VK t k /?- - v 
& ~ t) 

! 1 /ar 


^Cotfver5 



66 “TI WISH Somebody would help me with this greeting 
for Mother’s Day,” said the boy named Billy. “I 
can’t think of anything; and we get marked on it 
in school, too,” 

“Upon whose work do you usually get 
marks?” asked Big Sister. 

“Why, my own, of course,” flashed Billy, “but this is 
different.” 

“It will be easy,” said Somebody, “if you will just think 
about Mother and write what you would like to say to her.” 

“Mom’s the best thing in the world,” said Billy, “but 
these are to be read aloud and the other fellows would call 
me sissy!” 

“When President Garfield was inaugurated,” said Some¬ 
body quietly, “the very first thing he did after taking the 
oath of office was to kiss his mother.” 

“With everybody looking on?” asked Billy. 

“Yes, with everybody looking on,” said Somebody. 
“That was his big and splendid way of telling everybody just 
what he thought of his mother and of thanking her for all 
the things she had done for him.” 

“Being his mother was enough,” said the boy named 
Billy, “what more did she do for him?” 

“His father died when he was just three years old,” 
said Somebody, “leaving his mother nothing in the world 

[51] 






except a stdny farm in the wilderness. She had to work the 
farm with the help of her eldest son, who was fourteen years 
old, and also do all the work of the house. Indeed, there was 
one summer when she lived on one scanty meal a day so that 
the children might have enough. This made a great impres¬ 
sion on James, who resolved that when he grew up he would 
take great care of her. 

“Washington said he owed his success in life to his 
mother, who gave him his strict sense of honesty and fairness. 

“Napoleon said of his mother/She watched over us with 
devotion, and allowed nothing but what was good and elevat¬ 
ing to take root in our understanding/ 

“Abraham Lincoln's mother died when Abraham was ten 
years old, but she had taught him all she knew of reading, 
writing, and arithmetic, and also to take pains with everything 
he did, and to love God and fear no man. 

“Although Lincoln never forgot his own dear mother, it 
was to his father's second wife that he often said he owed his 
success, as she almost moved heaven and earth to give him 
an education.” 

“Have we always had Mother's Day?” asked Billy. 

“No, indeed,” said Somebody. “It's quite recent. Miss 
Anna Jarvis of Philadelphia, who lost her own dear mother 
in 1906, presented the world with the idea of setting aside a 
day for the honoring and remembering of all mothers. The 
world was ready for the idea, and gladly took it up, and so 
we have this beautiful custom, which is yearly growing 
stronger, of remembering our mothers in some special way, 
sending a flower or a greeting, and wearing a white carna¬ 
tion to show our love and devotion to our own particular 
mother.” 

“Well,” said the boy named Billy, “Mom's the best 
thing in the world any way.” 

“Then say so,” said Somebody, “right out in meeting.” 

“I will!” said Billy. 




At) era, t 

66 \\ A so sad and solemncholy ?” asked Some¬ 

body of the boy named Billy. 

“ Mother sent me away from the table 
» ’cause I took my pie up in my fingers/’ said 
Billy. “ Grandfather said that fingers were 
made before forks, but Mother said per¬ 
haps they were, but that didn’t excuse me 
for forgetting my table manners. Who 
made forks, anyhow? I wish they hadn't .” 

“Well, Son,” said Somebody, “had 
you been born before the year 1600 it 
would have been quite correct for you to 
have eaten your meat from your fingers. But it was terribly 
messy and there had to be a servant called a ewer-bearer 
whose duty it was to pass around a basin of water and a 
napkin with which tb wash away the stains of the food. But 
at last some bright Italian person hit upon the idea of copying 
the large meat forks with which the roast was handled, and 
making them small enough to be used indiv dually. Visitors 
to Italy were much interested in the fork. 

“Many people thought it a useless invention and it was 
the middle of the 17th century before the people of England 
consented to use it. Queen Elizabeth was the first lady in 
England to own a fork, and hers could not have been much 
good as a table implement, as it was made of crystal, inlaid 
with gold and set with sparks of garnets. 

“The first forks were very small and narrow, with two 
prongs, but after people got used to the idea they were made 
larger. Silver knives and forks were first used in England in 
1814 and could only be afforded by the very wealthy.” 

“That’s interesting,” said the boy named Billy. “I’m 
glad I didn’t have to learn to eat peas with those funny little 
two-tined forks. I guess I’ll go and beg mother’s pardon.” 

r 53 ] 













AfcoU-t 


66) pTT^HIS is a piece of Sister’s new silk dress,” said 
the boy named Billy. “It looks as though the 
fairies had woven it out of cobwebs.” 

“It was made by something more wonder¬ 
ful than fairies, if that is possible,” said Somebody. “It was 
spun by a queer little worm who needed it for his own slumber 
robe, and had no idea in the world of giving it to sister for a 
party dress.” 

“You mean the silk-worm’s cocoon, of course,” said the 
boy named Billy. 

“About 4,500 years ago there was a Chinese Empress 
whose name was Si-Ling-Shi, who used to spend a great deal 
of time in her garden, and as she loved Nature very much she 
became interested in the worms who lived on her mulberry 
trees. There were so many of them, and the thread they spun 
was so strong and beautiful that she thought if it could be 
unrolled without being tangled or broken it could undoubtedly 
be spun into a web. 

“She knew if the chrysalis were left alive to emerge the 
thread would be broken and spoiled, so she had some of the 
cocoons devitalized and experiments proved her theories 
correct. 


[54] 









“The rest of the world tried hard to induce China to give 
their secret of silk-making but to no avail, so the Emperor 
Justinian sent some young monks to China to study and to get 
the secret. After some years they went back to Constanti¬ 
nople with enough eggs of the silk-worm butterfly in their 
hollow pilgrim staff’s to begin raising them. 

“ But even after they had the eggs it was not easy to raise 
them as the children of Mr. and Mrs. Bombyx Mori can only 
be raised where the mulberry tree will grow.” 

“After they get the cocoons how do they get the silk 
unwound?” asked the boy named Billy. 

“That’s interesting,” said Somebody. “I had a chance 
to see the process at the Panama Pacific Fair. When the 
worm is ready to spin, and has shed his coat four times, he 
is about three weeks old. Then he hangs himself on the limb 
of the tree which has nourished him, and begins to spin. He 
moves his head around for three whole days, spinning two 
threads at the same time, until he is completely covered, when 
he stops spinning and starts to transform. He has spun about 
1,200 yards of double-threaded silk. Of course he must not 
live to emerge so after three or four days he is put in a gently 
heated oven until he is dead. Then he is immersed in hot 
water and stirred with a long-handled brush until the ends of 
the threads are loosened, when he is put into another pan of 
hot water with several other cocoons and the ends of the 
threads are passed through an eyelet to keep them from 
tangling and are wound upon spools or reels into pale golden 
skeins of what is called raw silk. Afterward it is bleached and 
colored and woven into webs,” said Somebody. 

“That’s got any fairy story beaten a mile,” said Billy. 
“I’d really like to try out that process with Lady Luna’s 
cocoon, but she is such a beauty after she comes out that it 
would be too bad to destroy her.” 

“Indeed it would,” said Somebody, “and we’ve got to 
have beauty as well as utility in this world, Billy.” 

“Sure,” said Billy grinning, but he understood. 

[55] 



^TT^-ie I^aiyieS iyi ttve^fest p/IEtngtavut 

are very cavefut of t:lxe p ^trawBerrv Crop 













ACT we faiow about 

iStyawfeeyyies 



IAWBERRIES and cream for supper/’ sang out 
the boy named Billy, “wild ones. Got ’em over in 
the clearing in the woods where the fire ran through 
last year. Whoppers! I wonder how they ever got 
there, and why do we call them strawberries? They are far 
from being the color of straw. Just look at my hands.” 

“Look at your face, too, Billy,” laughed Somebody. 
“You surely did splash.” 

“Guess I did,” said Billy, as he repaired the damage. 
“I couldn’t resist those strawberries. Where did they get 
the name from?” 

“Nobody knows—at least nobody whom I have been 
able to trace,” said Somebody. “I’ve always been interested 
in that question myself, and I’ve consulted many authorities 
and have found out just exactly as much as the two people 
found out from each other in the early English rhyme, which 
goes: 

“Ye manne of ye wildernesse asked me, 

How many strauberies growe in ye sea? 

I answer maybe as I thought goode 
As manie red herring as growe in ye woode.” 

“That sounds as though they didn’t find out a blessed 
thing,” said the boy named Billy. 

“Exactly,” laughed Soniebody. “Izaak Walton’s tribute 
to the strawberry in the ‘Compleat Angler’ is very well known. 
He said, ‘Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but 
doubtless God never did.’ The only information I have been 

[57] 




able to gather is that ‘the strawberry is a perennial herb of 
the genus fragaria, order of rosacea/—that it ‘appears to have 
been a native of Eastern North America where it appears as a 
common wild strawberry.' The strawberry seems to have 
been grown in gardens less than six hundred years, for though 
knowledge of it goes back to the time of Virgil, and perhaps 
earlier, it was not cultivated by the people. 

“The Germans have some beautiful legends concerning 
it. It is said that the Goddess Frigga was very fond of the 
fruit and that it was supposed to be her task to go with the 
children to gather them on St. John's day; and that on that 
day no mother who had lost a little child would taste a straw¬ 
berry because if she did, the little one in Paradise could 
have none; because the mother on earth had already had the 
share belonging to it. 

“The fairies in the West of England are very careful of 
the strawberry crop and woe betide the one who picks the 
blooms or the unripe fruit. The farmers are always careful 
not to displease the fairies and always leave a great many 
ripe berries for them, as they are known to be very fond of 
them. The Bavarian farmer, knowing the capricious dispo¬ 
sition of the elves, is said to tie a basket of the ripe berries 
between the horns of his cow so that they may sit and enjoy 
them in comfort and also be more friendly toward the cow." 

“That's all right interesting," said the boy named Billy, 
“but it doesn't explain why there are berries in the clearing 
in the wood now, where there never were any before, nor tell 
us why they are called strawberries." 

“I fancy the birds and the winds could tell you how the 
strawberry seeds came to the clearing in the wood," said 
Somebody; “and as for the other, let us keep our minds and 
our ears open and perhaps we shall hear more about it in 
some way or other." 

“I can hear something right now that satisfies me," 
said the boy named Billy; “that's the dinner gong. Me for 
wild strawberries and Jersey cream!" 

[58] 


(OJxitcfrerts JQ)ay 


66 




HAT have you been doing all day that I have 
not had even a glimpse of you?” asked Some¬ 
body, as the boy named Billy came in, looking 
rather hot and dusty, one Saturday afternoon in 
June. “ Better go bathe your face at my wash- 
stand and then come and tell me what's been so 
interesting—baseball or fishing.” 

“Neither baseball nor fishing,” said the boy 
named Billy, “but it's been lots of fun just the 
same. I’ve been helping the ladies over at the 
church put up the flags and bunting for decora¬ 
tions and to fix up the pulpit with palms and 
potted plants; Bob White's been helping, too; 
we’re the tallest boys in Sunday School. Tomorrow is Chil¬ 
dren’s Day, you know. What's the meaning of Children’s 
Day and do they always have it? I don’t seem to remember 
anything about it before this year.” 

“That is because you are older now and able to help,” 
said Somebody. “It used to be the custom for each church to 
have Children’s Day at any time in the year that was most 
convenient for them, but back in 1883 the Presbyterian 
Church said, ‘This scattering Children's Day all over the year 
is not right and must stop—let's all get together and agree 
upon one particular day and keep that and celebrate it!' And 
all the other Churches saw the sense of that so they agreed on 
June—the second Sunday in June, as being warm and sunny 
weather with flowers blooming and everyone able to get out.” 


“But where did the idea of Children's Day come from?” 
asked the boy named Billy. 

“It probably grew out of that wonderful saying of Our 
Savior: ‘Suffer little children to come unto me and forbid them 
not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven,' ” said Somebody. 

[59] 






-ABoixt (CarrierlPigeort^ 


“B 


OB WHITE’S carrier pigeon has lost its mate,” 
said the boy named Billy. “He won’t eat or 
take any notice of anything—just sits humped 
up making queer little sounds as if he were 
grieving. Do you suppose that he realizes 
what has happened to the little mate?” 

“Perhaps not, in so many words,” said Somebody, “but 
he misses her and realizes that things are different. It’s a 
well-known fact that carrier pigeons never replace a lost 
mate, which reminds me of a story I heard about pigeons, 
out in Washington State, which might interest you.” 

“Is it a real/y-so story?” asked Billy. 

“Yes indeed,” said Somebody, “a really, truly-so story. 
It was this way. There was a pigeon fancier in Seattle, who, 
during the great war, raised carriers for the government, and 
in order to train the young birds for use in the battle-fields, 
he used to take them on the engine of the Shasta Limited 
train, which is the fastest one going south out of Seattle, 
down as far as Centralia, a small town on the line, where no 
stop is made by the limited, and then to liberate them and 
let them make their way back home. 

“One particularly beautiful and promising pair of black 
and white birds had been in training for some time in this 

[ 60 ] 





way, when, in returning to the loft the little lady bird was 
lost.” 

“Some spy had shot her very likely,” said Billy. 

“Well, as to that of course they never knew, it might 
have been a hawk you know,” said Somebody, “but her mate 
would not return home without her. He just flew between 
the two places searching for her, but at last returned to the 
place where he had seen her for the last time, at Centralia, 
where a kind-hearted farmer who lived near the railroad 
track fixed him up a cote, hoping that he might forget his 
loss. 

“The pathetic part of the story is in the fact that every 
day when the Shasta Limited came along the little fellow 
would fly to meet it, dropping until he was on a level with 
the engine, and flying along with it for as long as he could 
keep up, hoping that from the window of the engine his 
little mate would come to meet him. Then he would return to 
the farm house to wait until the next day. 

“The train men were much interested in him, and always 
gave him the signal that they were coming. He paid no atten¬ 
tion to any other train, but for a year, at the time I was there, 
he had been meeting the Shasta every day.” 

“Poor little fellow,” said the boy named Billy. “Did 
you see him yourself?” 

“Yes, I did,” said Somebody. “I chose that train on 
purpose because I had heard the story in Seattle. When it 
was time for the bird to appear the conductor of the train 
came and told me about it and I watched for him. He came 
straight as an arrow through the tree tops, and his flying 
was beautiful to see, as he accommodated himself to the 
swift flying train and its suction. At one time he was not 
more than six inches above the track, but gradually gained 
until he was on a level with the engineer’s cab.” 

“Poor little fellow,” said the boy named Billy. “I hope 
he forgot after awhile.” 

“So do I,” said Somebody. 

[ 61 ] 


+ -A&oxit Coat# 



66TT ^sOWN in a coal mine underneath the ground, 
Where a ray of sunshine never can be found, 
Digging dusky diamonds all the year around 
Downinacoalmine underneath the ground,” 
sang the boy named Billy as he put more 
coal on Somebody’s fire. 

“Where did you dig up that old coal¬ 
miner’s chantey, Billy Boy?” asked Some¬ 
body. 

“Bob White’s great-grandfather sings 
it sometimes in the funniest quivery old 
voice ever—” said the boy named Billy. 
“He used to be a foreman in a coal-mine in Pennsylvania when 
he was young, so Bob says. What’s a Chantey, please? I 
thought it was just a funny old song.” 

“A Chantey is a song that workmen sing as they work, 
and make up for themselves,” said Somebody. “Sometimes 
they have a stanza to start with and then everybody adds a 
little and after a time it takes on the character of the men 
who sing it. The men who work in the woods, and the river 
men, especially those of Canada, have wonderful Chanteys.” 

“It’s very interesting,” said Billy, “why do they call coal 
‘dusky diamonds’ in their chantey?” 

“Because both coal and diamonds are carbon,” said 
Somebody, “you knew that, Billy.” 

“Guess I did,” said Billy, giving the fire an extra poke, 
“only I didn’t stop to think. But I don’t believe I know just 
exactly what makes them after all.” 

“In the case of coal—pressure,” said Somebody. “This 
old world of ours has been a long time in the making; at some 
time in its history dense forests, which had been centuries in 
growing, were crushed and buried by some disturbance of the 
earth and under the mountains of earth and rocks were 

[62] 






pressed into a rock-like substance composed of carbon, oxygen, 
nitrogen, and hydrogen, with sulphur and silica added. The 
carbon and gases burn up, and what is left is what you take 
away in the form of ashes before you go to school mornings, 
like the good boy that you are.” 

“Is coal everywhere under us then?” asked the boy named 
Billy. 

“Probably not,” answered Somebody. “It is usually 
found in streaks, very likely because there was much open 
country where no forests grew. Then, too, the moving glacier 
or flood or whatever it was that destroyed the forests may have 
taken them a long way from home before it buried them.” 

“The coal we burn in the furnace is not like the sort that 
you burn in your grate,” said the boy named Billy. 

“The Anthracite, or hard coal which is used in furnaces,” 
said Somebody, “is the kind that has been under most pres¬ 
sure and is found at a greater depth than the Bituminous or 
soft coal which is found nearer the surface.” 

“Who was the first to find out that coal would burn?”: 
asked Billy. 

“Nobody knows,” said Somebody. “Perhaps some little 
mother whose babies were cold and chilly found some black 
rocks and used them for a fireplace to hold the little sticks 
which she was burning to cook breakfast over, and found that 
the stones also burned.” 

“I’ll bet that's right,” said Billy. “I can just see the 
picture. What kind of mother would she have been?” 

“Anglo-Saxon,” said Somebody, “as they were the first 
to use it as a fuel. They have been known to have used coal 
since 842 A. D.” v/ , 

“As useful as coal itself is, itsgclerivatives are more so,” 
went on Somebody. “From coal t|jr is made so many articles 
of daily use that it would be impossible to tell you about 
them all.” Jf 

“Old King Coal,” sang Billy.^“Thanks, Somebody—I’m 
off for a swift skate on the ice this morning!” 

[ 6 3 ] 





66 


tiru.e ^tar lxa5 k>u_t 


five {Points 


99 






























Flag JQ)ay 



Revolutionary flags us 
THE STARS 



-ti BEFORE THE ADOPTION of 
AND STRIPES 


T\ 


CAN’T seem to make this flag-staff do what I want 
it to,” said the boy named Billy. 

“Let me help you/’ said Somebody; “I’ll hold 
it while you clamp it to the window-sill.” 

“Just when did we begin to have Flag Day, please?” 

“Flag Raising Day is one of the youngest of our National 
anniversaries, but is fast becoming one of the most popular,” 
said Somebody. “The custom came about at the request of 
the Sons of the Revolution that a day be set aside for honor¬ 
ing of the Flag, and was first observed on the 14th of June, 
1894, on the 117th anniversary of the adoption of the Flag 
by Congress, when the Governor of New York ordered it 
to be flown on all public buildings in the State.” 

“Please tell me just how the flag became,” said Billy. 

“Previous to the year 1777,” said Somebody, “each 
state had its own flag. But at a convention of the Revolu¬ 
tionary statesmen, which was held in Philadelphia in that 
year, a committee was appointed to consider the report upon 
the subject of a flag which should be the standard of all the 
colonies; and on June 14th, 1777, Congress passed a resolution 
that the flag of our country should bear thirteen stripes, one 
red and the other white, and that the union should be thir¬ 
teen white stars on a field of blue. General George Wash¬ 
ington, who was a member of the committee, with Robert 
Morris and Colonel Ross, made a rough sketch of the flag 
and took it to a Mrs. Betsy Ross who was famed for her 

[65] 







skillful needle work, asking her if she could make such a flag. 

“I can,” said Mrs. Ross, ‘‘but a true star has but five 
points, where yours has six,” and picking up her scissors she 
deftly cut a five-pointed star. It was at once seen that the 
star of five points was much more beautiful and the com¬ 
mittee commissioned Mrs. Ross to make a sample flag. 

The first flag made was raised in Philadelphia, but was 
soon copied and flown over the entire land. 

“Where it still flies,” said the boy named Billy, saluting, 
“and will always continue to fly. But when was it changed? 
The field is now full of stars, though it has only thirteen 
stripes.” 

“When Kentucky and Vermont were admitted to the 
Union,” said Somebody, “the flag was changed to fifteen stars 
and fifteen stripes; but in 1818 Congress voted to restore 
the thirteen stripes and to add a new star for every state, 
on the first Fourth of July after the state had been admitted 
to the Union. 

“There is a story to the effect that at a Fourth of July 
dinner given some years ago in Shanghai, the English Consul, 
in toasting the British flag, said: ‘Here’s to the Union Jack, 
the flag of flags, the flag that has floated on every continent 
and every sea for a thousand years and upon which the sun 
never sets.’ ” 

“Did he get away with that?” asked Billy. 

“Not very well,” said Somebody. “Eli Perkins, the 
celebrated American humorist, who was present, rose to his 
feet and said, “ Here s to the Stars and Stripes, emblem of 
the New Republic. When the setting sun lights up its stars 
in Alaska, the rising sun salutes it on the rockbound coast 
of Maine. It is the flag of liberty, never lowered to any foe, 
and the only flag that has ever whipped the flag upon which 
the sun never sets.” 

“I guess that held him for a while!” said the boy named 
Billy, saluting. 


[ 66 ] 



ve b^ea-gxilf 
jMLo nu \ ent 


HAT are you reading, Billy Boy, all alone to 
^k/ m/ yourself ?” asked Somebody one evening 
^ ▼ after supper. 

“Story about an old grey and white sea-gull that got 
mixed up with some crude oil which a ship had thrown out, 
and got his feathers so covered with it that he could neither 
swim nor fly,” answered the boy named Billy, “and how some 
children fed him and took care of him until he got a new coat 
of feathers; he was sure in a bad fix, only for their kindness.” 

“I was reading in a book about birds the other day,” 
said Big Sister, “that the gull is a protected bird, but it did 
not state why. I suppose on account of it's beauty, isn't it?” 

“Not entirely,” said Somebody. “They are splendid 
scavengers, and are protected on that account—your friend 
the gull who got into trouble, Billy, was very likely following 
the vessel for the things thrown out from the kitchen—but 
outside of that they ought to be protected on account of 
their grace and beauty and the life and movement that they 
give to the upper air. They are, as far as I know, the only 
birds in the world to have a monument erected to them, and 
not a small one either but a great shaft of granite.” 

“Oh, say, Somebody,” said the boy named Billy,“you're 
so much better than any story book—what about these 
wonderful birds?” 

“It was like this,” said Somebody. “When the Mor¬ 
mons went all the way across the sands of the desert, to 
improve the land on the shores of the Great Salt Lake in Utah, 

[67] 





they met with many hardships and discouragements. After 
two years, when they had succeeded in getting water on the 
land, had planted things that were growing beautifully, and 
even had fields of waving grain which they were looking 
forward to harvesting, young fruit orchards started and vege¬ 
tables growing, it seemed like a dream come true.” 

“I’ll say so,” said the boy named Billy. 

“Well, then,” said Somebody, “just as they had all those 
things and were as happy as could be, waiting for harvest 
time, and working at building more homes, along came a plague 
of black crickets, and began to devour every growing thing in 
sight. The crickets ate anything and everything. When the 
fields no longer looked promising they began on the clothing 
and bedding. It was impossible to hang out the family wash¬ 
ing, because a drove of these hungry crickets would swoop 
down on it and leave a trail of gnawed holes. 

“The people fought the pests with every weapon they 
had, but it did no good, and they had to simply stand by and 
see everything eaten and destroyed. 

“When everything they knew of had been done, there 
was sent out a call for the people to come into the middle of 
town for prayer that the scourge might be lifted. 

“All day long they prayed—and just before evening there 
came a white cloud from the west which proved to be millions 
of sea-gulls, every one of which had brought along a perfectly 
good appetite for black crickets, and before you could say 
Jack Robinson there wasn’t a single cricket left to tell the 
tale. Right then and there, those poor Mormon farmers 
turned the prayer meeting into a day of Thanksgiving. 

“In fact, so thankful were they that they built in Temple 
Square in Salt Lake City a beautiful granite monument called 
The Monument To The Sea-Gulls, and declared the sea-gull 
to be the sacred bird of Utah forever.” 

“Well, could you blame ’em?” said the boy named Billy. 


[ 68 ] 



ELLO, Scout, ’’said Uncle Ned, who had 
dropped in for dinner, as the boy named 
Billy came in in his new khaki uniform, 
“whither away?” 

“I’m just getting my kit packed,” 
said the boy named Billy, “we Juniors 
are going to hike out to Long Lake for 
over the Fourth.” 

“You’ll miss all the fireworks,” 
said Uncle Ned. 

“ No, we won’t, we’ll be back before 
evening,” said Billy. “We’ve got to because 
we’re going to have Company fireworks on 
the Parade Grounds—every fellow’s going to 
bring his own and pool ’em—Dad’s given me 
some regular sky-shooters to celebrate my 
country’s birthday with.” 

“Not much like the unsafe and insane Fourth your Dad 
and I used to have when we were youngsters,” grinned 
Uncle Ned. “We had real gunpowder those days.” 

“Dad’s told me all about it,” said Billy. “It must have 
been loads of fun. I like a big noise as well as anybody, but 
I sort of like to be all in one piece when I take the count at 
bedtime, and Dad has always missed that finger of his a lot 
—that middle one he lost the Fourth just after he was nine 
years old.” 

“Guess I do know,” said Uncle Ned. “I carried him in 
to Mother, and I’ll never forget how she looked, either.” 

“Well,” said the boy named Billy, “when it comes to 
having fun that would make Mom sorry I’ll go without the 
fun.” 

“You’re all right, Billy Boy,” said Somebody, who had 
[69] 
























been listening to the conversation, “those old fellows did not 
have half the fun they think they did.” 

“Well,” said the boy named Billy, “she’s a grand old 
country and I’ll help celebrate her birthday every time, but 
I’m glad that they pay more attention to us boys nowadays 
and let us have hikes and scout suits and drills and every¬ 
thing. It would be hard to find a place where a boy can have 
a better time just being a boy, than in this good old Land 
o’ the Free—don’t you think?” 

“ ’Deed and I do, Billy Boy, think just that!” said 
Somebody. 

“ Somebody, what is in the Declaration of Independence ?” 

“Compton’s Pictured Encyclopedia gives it briefly,” said 
Somebody. “ 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that 
all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their 
Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are 
life, liberty and pursuit of happiness. That to secure these 
rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their 
just powers from the consent of the governed; that, whenever 
any form of government becomes destructive to these ends, it 
is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute 
a new government, laying its foundation on such principles, 
and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem 
most likely to effect their safety and happiness— 

“ ‘We, therefore—do solemnly publish and declare, That 
these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, Free and 
Independent States; that they are absolved from all allegiance 
to the British crown, and that all political connection between 
them and the State of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally 
dissolved; and that as free and independent States, they have 
full power to levy war, conclude peace, contract alliances, 
establish commerce and do all other acts and things which 
independent States may of right do. And for the support of 
this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of 
Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, 
our fortunes, and our sacred honor.’ ” 

[ 71 ] 



JPqtato 



GOODY/’ said the boy named Billy. 
“Baked potatoes for supper:—I can smell 
them—I am certainly grateful to Old 
Ireland for sending us her wonderful 
potatoes. I’m going to have cream on 
mine and eat every bit of the jacket.” 


“So shall I/’ said Somebody, laughing. “I don’t know of 
anything more appetizing than a big well-baked potato, but I 
must tell you, Billy Boy, that the cause for gratitude is the 
other way around—Ireland has America to thank for potatoes. 
But we surely owe her a vote of thanks for showing us what a 
useful article of food we were neglecting to use.” 


“Why! Where did the potato come from if not from 
Ireland—they’re always spoken of as Irish Potatoes—” said 
the boy named Billy. 

“The botanical books have this to say about it,” said 
Somebody. “Potato—Solanum tuberosa—a native of Chile, 
Peru, and the Rocky Mountains of North America. 

“The potato was taken to England from America in the 
early part of the 16th century by Sir Francis Drake who saw 
in it a valuable food for cattle. But when the grain crops 
failed in 1772 the people, especially those in Ireland, began 
to grow the potato extensively for food for the people, and 
as it was so easily raised it soon became very popular, and 
was eagerly adopted by the Irish as their very own. 


“In the United States the growing of early potatoes for 
northern markets is an important industry as far south as 
Florida and the Bermudas; but potatoes flourish best in 
climates which are just too cool for corn. There is a belt of 

1721 



i2o 5 ooo,ooo acres, running from Newfoundland, maritime 
Canada, and New England, through New York, Pennsyl¬ 
vania, and the American and Canadian Lake region, and by 
way of the Yukon Valley almost into the Arctic Circle, where 
potatoes have been found amazingly productive. The giant 
Idaho and Montana potatoes, which often weigh several 
pounds, are favorites for baking. 

“Growing from seed seldom produces satisfactory 
potatoes, but seedsmen plant them in the hope of discovering 
new and desirable varieties, as did Burbank when he grew from 
seed the potato which bears his name. There are now perhaps 
a thousand well-developed varieties, while at the time of the 
American Revolution there were only two, the red and the 
white. In growing potatoes, the most perfect tubers should be 
chosen, cut in pieces and planted; the new plants grow from 
the eyes or buds on the cuttings. 

“The cultivation of the potato has played an important 
part in the history of Europe. In certain parts of Germany it 
helped to check the famines caused by the Thirty Years’ War. 
By 1688 it had become the staple food of the Irish peasantry, 
and the failure of the potato crop in 1845 and the resulting 
famine started the first great wave of Irish immigration to the 
United States.” 

“I was reading an old poem about that Irish famine the 
other day,” said the boy named Billy, “where a little boy 
was begging his mother for just one grain of corn—I felt so 
sorry for him, but I can see now that he suffered hunger so 
that all the other children in the world might have good food 
all their lives—I hope someone gave him a nice hot baked 
potato before he got too hungry. There’s the dinner gong— 
Hurrah for the Irish!” 

“Hurrah for us, too!” said Somebody. 

“Sure,” said the boy named Billy. 


[73] 



weivt, tKeye xva*& (Q)td ! 






































Qftt ^T>e. the 

%Viscoytsiyu 

c? 



£>C f/l l^EACHER was reading to the class about Old Abe, 
I the war Eagle, today,” said the boy named Billy. 

“What about him,” asked Big Sister, “I do 
not remember anything about him in my 
United States History.” 

“Teacher said he was not really 
historical—just an incident in the history 
of the Civil War, but he is most interest¬ 
ing,” said the boy named Billy. “He 
went through three years of the war and 
was in the thick of every battle, where he seemed to be having 
the time of his life, understanding which side he belonged to 
very well indeed. One day when the Confederate soldiers had 
been told by their officers to ‘get that old bird' and they were 
all firing on him as hard as they possibly could, Old Abe went 
up in the air and stayed there circling ’round and ’round— 
screaming his head off, and when the battle was over he went 
back to his standard minus a few feathers but still all in one 
piece, as Big Brother says.” 

“Wherever did they get him?” asked Big Sister. 

“Some people say Old Abe was caught in the spring of 
1861 on the banks of the Flambeau River in Wisconsin when 
the Indians were making their maple sugar, by the son of 
Chief Thunder-Of-Bees. He climbed to the top of the tall 
tree where the Eagles had their nest and took the baby bird 
• out when the old ones were away. Others say that he chopped 
the tree down and had a fight with the old birds, but finally 

r 75 ] 








escaped with the little one who was then about as large as a 
hen. Anyway he got him, and took him home to the children, 
where he became quite one of the family, until when it was 
planting time Chief Sky sold him for a bushel of seed corn. 
A man named Mills then bought him from his owner for five 
dollars and presented him to a Company of young volunteers 
who were organizing to go to the front. 

“The boys thought Mr. Eagle was great fun, and they 
made him enlist, by putting the colors around his neck and 
a shield on his breast so that he was really a living United 
States Emblem. Then they christened him ‘Old Abe' in 
honor of the president, and made a standard for him, and 
after that wherever his regiment, the 8th Wisconsin, went, 
there was Old Abe in all his glory, so that the regiment became 
known as the Eagle Regiment. 

“After the war he was taken back to Madison where 
he had started from three long years before, and was given a 
perch in the Capitol where he held a reception every day. 
P. T. Barnum wanted to buy him and so did many others, 
but he could not be purchased. There wasn’t money enough 
in the world to buy him. 

“In the winter of 1864-5 he was taken to the big fair at 
Chicago where his photographs were sold for the benefit of 
sick and wounded soldiers, and he earned in that way 16,000 
dollars. In 1876 he was taken to the Centennial Exposition 
at Philadelphia where he was greatly admired, and when 
that was over he was taken home again to his perch in the 
State Capitol at Madison. 

“ In 1881 the bird died of old age and the people of Madison 
had his skin stuffed and mounted on his old perch. There Old 
Abe stood, looking every inch a war eagle and a hero, until 
the State House burned.” 

“That is a very interesting story,” said Somebody. 

“It is in a book called ‘The Great Seal’ by a Mr. J. 
Cigrand,” said the boy named Billy. “I’m going to read it 
all when I can read a little better.” 

[76] 


jVlc>cm.t Ctocfc^ 


66 77"o 

L 



~OOK at my new wrist-watch! Mom 
gave it to me for my birthday— 
isn't it a beauty?" said the boy 
named Billy. “Radium dial ’n all; I can see 
what time it is in the dark. Handy when I'm 
on hikes, no more stopping to scratch matches. 

Stem winder ’n everything." 

“Goodness, Billy," said Big Sister. “Any¬ 
one would think to hear you that there never 
was a watch like that of yours. We all have 
watches." 

Billy grinned. “ Well," hesaid,“ I’ve wanted 
it so long. A fellow needs something to tell 
time by. Who discovered how to tell time 
anyhow?" 

“The first Caveman, probably," said Somebody. “He 
needed to let the ladies of the family know when he was 
coming home to dinner, so he very likely pointed to the sun, 
and drew a line in the sand, to tell them that when the sun¬ 
shine reached that spot he would be home and that dinner 
better be forthcoming pronto! That was the sundial idea, 
which was the only way of time-telling for ages. Cleopatra’s 
needle is supposed to have been one of the big sun dials. 
But as it was certainly inconvenient not to be able to tell 
the time on dark days, it was only a matter of time when 
some more convenient method of recording the hours would 
be found. When it did appear it was in the shape of the 
clepsydra, or water thief, a brass bowl with a hole in the 
bottom, which was floated on top of another bowl full of 
water, the principle being that when the bowl had filled itself 
with water an hour had passed, then a slave would empty 
the bowl, and hit it with a rod to announce the hour." 

[ 77 ] 







'‘But someone must have sat up all night to watch the 
bowl and strike the hours,” said the boy named Billy. 

“Precisely,” said Somebody, “so they consulted the 
stars, and discovered that they could divide the night into 
‘watches' of so many hours duration, and then they had 
different watchmen to sit up with the clepsydra, and announce 
the hours. 

“The Priests of Babylon were very wise men indeed, 
and it was not long until they had figured out how to divide 
the years into months and weeks and days and hours and 
minutes and seconds. 

“But it was not until 1581 that a young Spaniard, stand¬ 
ing in the Cathedral of Pisa discovered, by watching a swinging 
lamp, the principle of the pendulum. He noticed that when 
it moved a short distance, it moved slowly, and that the 
farther it moved, the faster became the motion, making the 
long swing in the same time as it did the shorter one. And 
in this way was the pendulum applied to the making of time¬ 
telling machines. 

“In the 12th Century there were clocks which struck the 
hours, but which had no dials or hands, but after the idea 
of time-telling machines started it traveled fast, and in the 
14th Century real clocks began to appear. 

“We have not time to go through the whole fascinating 
story of how the idea progressed, but we know that in Shake¬ 
speare’s time there were watches that could be carried in the 
pocket.” 

“Why were they called ‘watches’ instead of clocks,” 
asked the boy named Billy. 

“The clock, or orloge, as they were then called, struck 
the hours, and the watch was very probably so named from 
the silent ‘watches of the night’,” said Somebody. “That 
last is just a guess, but it’s as good as anybody’s guess at 
that.” 

“Who made the first clock in America?” asked the boy 
named Billy. 


[78] 


“Eli Terry did, in the year 1809,” said Somebody, 
“and after a time he got Seth Thomas to help him. As 
soon as people realized what a very great convenience it 
was to be able to keep accurate time, nobody wanted to be 
without a clock. And then people began to travel more and 
needed to have something portable with which to tell time, and 
so the convenient watches came to be made. 

“ ‘What time is it?' you ask. Centuries of scientific 
progress, with vast labor and years of patient study, have been 
necessary to answer that question. You’ll find that men had 
to delve into mathematics, the mysteries of astronomy, the 
wonders of physics and chemistry, before they could force the 
hands on the dial to tell you when to start for schoo 1 or to 
catch your train. As you look at a clock, remember that every 
time the minute-hand passes from one of its marks to the next, 
it shows that this huge globe on which we live has covered 
more than 1,000 miles of its headlong journey. 

“And then along came Madame Curie, the brilliant French 
scientist, and discovered radium, the merest shadow of which 
makes the dial of your watch luminous for as long as it lasts. 

“There is a very famous clock in Strasbourg which not 
only tells the time of day, but also the day of week, the month, 
and the position of the moon and the planets. At various 
times processions of tiny figures cross a stage, including a 
cock that crows. The day of week is indicated by a separate 
little figure which takes its place on a tiny platform. 

“A watch is perhaps the most wonderful little machine 
in the world. Packed in a case sometimes no bigger than a 
twenty-five cent piece and less than a quarter of an inch 
thick are from one hundred and fifty to eight hundred sepa¬ 
rate parts. And there you are, Billy Boy!” 

“Time for bed,” said Mother. “And don't linger too long 
admiring your new watch or it will be time to get up.” 

“Goodnight everybody, and Somebody,” said the boy 
named Billy, “and thanks again, Mom, for the watch. Eve 
never before had such a jimdandy birthday gift.” 

[79] 


(Cotton, 



66 Away 

A 


\ ^VAY down South in the land of cotton 
Cinnamon seed and sandy bottom 
Look away, look away, look away down South 
in Dixie,” 
sang the boy named Billy. 

“Wherever did you dig up that old Dixie song?” Some¬ 
body asked, smiling. “I haven't heard it in years.” 

“Bob White's Grandfather is always singing it,” said the 
boy named Billy, “and we play soldier to it—it has such a 
dandy swing to it—listen: 

“‘In Dixie Land I’ll take my stand 

To live and die for Dixie—Look away— 

Look away—look away down South in Dixie' 

—it's an old war song, isn’t it?” 

“It is one of the old negro melodies which the boys 
adopted as a marching song in the Civil War,” said Some¬ 
body, “and very dear to the hearts of everyone from the 
‘land of cotton. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask something about cotton— 
Teacher says that if coal is king in America cotton is easily 
queen. I did not know before that it was so important—I 
thought you just made house dresses and aprons of it. Bob 
White says that when he was down South with his folks last 
winter the fields were all blossomed out white and the people 
were picking the flowers.” 

[80] 











“Bob should have asked questions about it,” said Some¬ 
body, “and in that way he would have found out that the 
white ‘blooms' were in reality the ripened cotton, or boll, as 
it is called. When the cotton has gone to seed it is ready to 
be picked, and if left to itself would in time blow away in 
the winds, scattering its seeds just as old Grandfather dande¬ 
lion does his. 

“But it is far too valuable to be left to do that, so it is 
carefully picked and prepared for market; but valuable as 
the fibre, the seed, which is deeply embedded in the cotton, 
is almost more so. But the seed is very hard to get at, and 
before the cotton gin was invented by Eli Whitney it was a 
year’s work for one person to clean the seeds from enough 
cotton to make one bale, but now with the machinery they 
have it is easy to prepare many bales in one day.” 

“Where did it come from?” asked Billy. 

“Most of it,” said Somebody, “came from our own 
Southern States, but it has been grown in Asia and Egypt for 
centuries, being one of the oldest plants on record.” 

“What are some of the uses of cotton?” asked Billy. 

“They are so many I couldn’t begin to tell you,” said 
Somebody, “but all our bed linen is made from it, as well as 
most of our curtains, and underwear and the dainty things 
Little Sister wears, as well as the lovely voile dresses that 
make Mother look like a bunch of posies. It is indispen¬ 
sable for bandages and pads to dress wounds with and for 
many other things.” 

“I think it’s wonderful,” said the boy named Billy, “how 
many of the things that we use every day just grow.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Somebody, “Mother Nature has put 
everything we could possibly need, in this good old world 
of ours, and expects us to use our brains to find out just how 
to use them.” 

“Thanks, Somebody,” said the boy named Billy, “Em 
going over to tell Bob White all about those wonderful cotton 
flowers he thinks he saw!” 

[81] 



Afeoiat C^oyat 


7 T 

B /for. 

C7 s 


‘ ff ^ NCLE BOB has just returned from Cali¬ 

fornia,” said the boy named Billy, “and has 
brought Big Sister a necklace of very beauti¬ 
ful coral beads; not a bit like the dark red 
branchy looking ones that she has had since she was a baby! 
These are rose pink with little hand-carved roses all over them. 
What sort of a stone is coral, and where is it found? It's 
lovely!” 

“Strictly speaking,” said Somebody, “although coral has 
all the appearance of stone it isn’t that at all, although it is 
just as dangerous to a ship to run aground on a reef of it as 
it would be to run on the rocks—it’s so jagged and sharp. It 
is really the bones you might say of living creatures which 
made their homes in that particular spot for ages and dying 
have left their skeletons behind them for a monument. 

“These little sea animals are called polyps and the coral 
grows inside their soft outer structure just as your bones do 
inside your flesh. Among the greatest architects in the world 
are the little coral-making animals, creatures of shallow water 
in the warmer seas. Some kinds live all alone, but the com¬ 
moner ones live in colonies of many individuals united by a 
stalk with many branches—sort of a family tree you might 
say—indeed they were once called plant animals. They have 
a very helpful and economical way of living,” went on Some¬ 
body, “for when something good to eat swims or floats within 

[82] 








reach of one little polyp's mouth he sucks it in, swallows it, 
and all his hungry relatives get the benefit of it." 

“That's what I’d call being real chummy," said the boy 
named Billy. “How do they manage that?" 

“They have a sort of family stomach," said Somebody, 
“or reservoir into which all food absorbed by the colony goes." 

“I don’t believe I'd like that very well," said Billy. 
“One fellow might have to eat all the things he didn't care 
about and another would get all the pie." 

“I do not suppose the polyp has much to boast of in the 
way of the sense of taste," laughed Somebody, “but you’ve 
got to admit that he does his duty as he sees it without 
shirking." 

“I should say he does," said Billy. “What else does he 
do besides working for the good of his family?" 

“He has a quite important hand in making the ‘beau¬ 
teous land,' " said Somebody. “The Great Barrier Reef of 
Australia, extending a thousand miles along the coast and in 
some places from one to three miles wide, was made entirely 
by the Polyps. Also the keys of Florida, as well as the Ever¬ 
glades, are made entirely upon coral foundation.” 

“That is very interesting," said the boy named Billy. 
“But if there is so much of it why is it so expensive?" 

“There's only one kind that is precious," said Somebody. 
“That is the corallium rubrum of the Mediterranean Sea. It 
was once supposed to be endowed with sacred properties 
of a mysterious nature; the Mandarins of China wear coral 
buttons made from it as their badge of office. There is also 
a very rare black coral which makes its home in the warm 
water of the Great Australian Barrier Reef. The Italians are 
the greatest coral workers, making a most valuable industry 
of making jewelry and buttons and other small articles. 

“There's a lot more to learn about this subject, but that's 
all I am able to tell you just now," said Somebody. 

“Thanks," said the boy named Billy. “ I'll read up on it." 

r 831 



FRANCIS SCOTT 


c Jjf)e. ^ tay~sf>a,i\ g lec[ TBcttvttte** 


T HE boy named Billy came running into the house 
one morning, full of the joy of living and singing at 
the top of his voice, “0, long may the star-spangled 
fl \> banner still wave, o’er the land of the free-ee and 
vb - ft the home of the brave.” 

“Get a step-ladder, Billy. You’ll never reach 
that 'land of the free’ any other way,” advised Big Sister. 

“Well, say,” said Billy grinning, “I’m not a prima donna; 
it takes a real voice to climb up there. I love it, but I wish 
there were not so many high places in it. Francis Scott Key 
never thought of me when he wrote it, that’s sure.” 

“Francis Scott Key hadn’t a thing to do with it, silly- 
Billy,” said Big Sister. “How do you learn your history any¬ 
how?” 

“Well, Somebody, please tell me who did write it then?” 
asked Billy. “That’s what teacher said anyway.” 

“Perhaps it was not made quite clear to you, Billy Boy, 
that the words only were written by Francis Scott Key. 
You’re not alone in wishing that it was not quite so difficult; 
when I come to that high note I always stand on tiptoe and 
I’ve never struck it yet, and nine out of ten people have the 
same difficulty; yet I love it, as we all do. 

[84] 




















“As to who really wrote it there seems to be no clear 
record, some crediting it to Dr. Samuel Arnold, an English¬ 
man, but others claim it for John Stafford Smith, who made 
it over from an old French composition. Anyway, it was 
used as a popular song in England for some years and was 
used in other ways also. 

“In 1798 it was used by Robert Treat Paine in a political 
way, for a song called ‘Adams and Liberty.’ 

“Everyone knows how the words came to be written. 
It was in the Summer of 1814 when we were at war with 
England; the British under General Ross appeared in the 
vicinity of Washington and after overcoming feeble resistance 
took the capital and set fire to the White House and some other 
public buildings. The President and the Cabinet fled, while 
pretty Dolly Madison bundled up the most precious White 
House treasures, including Washington’s picture and the 
original draft of the Declaration of Independence and carried 
them to safety. Then the British prepared to bombard Balti¬ 
more from the sea and attack it from the land side. Francis 
Scott Key was sent with a friend to the British Fleet to get a 
prisoner of war. As the British were about to attack the town 
and the Fort he was not allowed to return, and you may 
imagine how anxiously he watched for the dawn to come and 
with what joy, when the mists rolled away that he beheld the 
starry banner still flying from the fort. With the tears of 
thankfulness streaming down his cheeks he wrote the first 
stanza of his now world-famous song and later in the day, when 
he had returned to the city, he finished the poem. 

“It was first printed under the name of ‘The Bombard¬ 
ment of Fort McHenry,’ in the Baltimore American and imme¬ 
diately became very popular.” 

“It’s a great song,” said the boy named Billy, “but I 
think almost anyone could have written a great song under 
those conditions—if he could write at all.” 

“Yes indeed,” agreed Somebody. 


[86] 


o TlX-mlo v effa s 



«* W TS raining, Billy/’ called Mother 
H from upstairs, “take your um¬ 
brella when you go to school.” 

“O Mother, please ,” said the boy 
named Billy, “I just hate to carry an um¬ 
brella —whoever invented the old things any¬ 
way?” 

“I guess old Mr. Toad invented the idea 
when he hunched under the first toadstool; and 
next after him was an honorable Chinese gentle¬ 
man who got his idea from the branches of the 
umbrella tree. 

“In olden times no one but those of royal 
family were allowed to use the umbrella, and 
then only as a protection from the sun, as they 
were made only of the daintiest silks and 
brocades, and even of rice paper,” said Some¬ 
body. 


“It did not seem to occur to anyone that it could be used 
as a protection against the rain until early in the eighteenth 
century, when it was introduced in England. Even then 
people hesitated to use it on account of the ridicule it called 
forth.” 

“So you see,” said the boy named Billy,“Eve got a good 
right not to like to carry one.” 

“M-m—yes,” said Somebody. “Only you will observe, 
that as soon as people began to really realize what a very sen¬ 
sible article it was and how much it saved them in the way 
of spoiled clothes, not to mention damp shoulders, of course 
they didn’t mind at all what a few foolish ones thought who 
did not know a good thing when they saw it.” 

“Time for school, Billy,” called Mother, “and never mind 
taking your umbrella—the rain is over.” 

“Oh, goody!” exclaimed the boy named Billy. 


[87] 



t' lattowe ert 

66 ^ A 7^ HAT are you going to do with that mon- 
/ strous pumpkin, Billy Boy,” asked Big 
Y Sister, one crisp autumn day. 

“Going to make a Jack O'Lantern of 
it,” said the boy named Billy. 

“Somebody, why do we dress up and make 
believe we're a lot of witches on Hallowe'en when we know 
there is nothing like that in the world?” 

“All Hallow Eve,” said Somebody, “is the name given 
to the vigil of Hallowmas, which falls on the night before the 
Feast of All Saints Day. The Ancients lighted bonfires on 
that night to scare away ghosts and witches. 

“The Romans had a festival in honor of Pomona, the 
goddess of fruits, in which apples featured, which accounts for 
the custom of bobbing for apples in tubs of water, which to 
this day the young folks think is so much fun.” 

“That's all right for girls,” said the boy named Billy, 
“but regular fellows can find something better to do.” 

“What, for instance?” asked Big Sister. 

“Oh, making Jack O’ Lanterns, and playing tricks on 
other fellows,” said Billy. 

“I know a fine trick that a lot of husky chaps like you 
and Bob White and your gang could play on another fellow,” 
said Somebody. 

“What is it?” asked Billy. “We’re game for almost any¬ 
thing that you could suggest.” 

“Old Grandsire Johnson, who lives all alone in that little 
house at the edge of town, has just had his winter's coal de¬ 
livered,” said Somebody. “I think it would be fine if the 
Hallowe'en spirits would go up there while he is at prayer 
meeting tonight and put it all in the shed for him.” 

“Oh, fine,” said the boy named Billy. “I know a bunch 
of healthy spooks that would just love a little job like that.” 

[ 88 ] 



iS 


w 








o^itW^>r\ r e g 

00 K at this funny old pair of curly-toed skates that 
I found in that funny old horse-hair trunk in 
the attic,” said the boy named Billy. “They 
look like toys, and seem about big enough for 
little sister. Nobody ever could have really used them to 
skate with, could they?” 

“Those skates were your great-grandmother Ellen's 
racing skates,” said Somebody, “and if they had not been 
rather practical and not at all the toys they look, in com¬ 
parison with the ones in use now, you would not be here this 
afternoon.” 

“Why?” demanded the boy named Billy, sensing a story. 

“Your great-grandmother Ellen,” said Somebody, “was 
considered to have been the most expert skater, the most 
fearless rider, and the most popular young lady in the section 
of the country where she grew up, 
and on the day of which I am speak¬ 
ing, she had one of the most thrilling 
adventures ever staged anywhere, 
not excepting the movies.” 

“A really-so story!” exclaimed 
the boy named Billy, “and in the 
family, too!” 

“It was many, many years 
ago,” said Somebody, “and hap¬ 
pened away up in the wilds of 
Maine, where your great-great¬ 
grandfather lived with his family on 
the farm which he had taken away 
from the forest. 

“Nobody lived at the head of 
the lake, which was long and narrow 
and more like a river in appearance, 

[89] 



TIMBER - WOLF : 











except your great-great-grandfather and his sons and 
daughters; but half way down, about ten miles, there was a 
small village, where the post-office was and where the young 
people of the surrounding country used to gather for their 
dances and good times. So one day in winter, when great¬ 
grandmother Ellen was about seventeen years old, she started 
out early to skate down to the settlement to a party. The 
party proved entertaining, and also the farewells detained her, 
and she was dismayed to see that just as she was getting her 
last skate-strap firmly fastened, the sun was going down behind 
the tall hemlock trees. 

“Ten of the thirty minutes it would take her to skate 
home had gone and all was well, then far behind her she heard 
the long-drawn hunting call of the timber wolf. 

“A few moments later, almost parallel with her, there 
broke from the forest a pack of the hunger-stricken beasts. 
Instantly the girl swerved in a skilful zigzag—and instantly 
the wolves swerved in the same direction—their long claws 
slipping on the ice as they swerved. On they came again and 
again. Sometimes they were so near that their snapping jaws 
almost caught her skirts, and to gain time she managed to 
unwind her long wool scarf, which she allowed to float behind 
her, to be seized and torn to pieces, which gave her a moment’s 
advantage. Then, just as she was wondering how much longer 
she could go on there were shots, and the pack scattered, leav¬ 
ing behind several of their number.” 

“What happened?” asked the boy named Billy. 

“The men, coming in from work, discovered Ellen was 
late, and one remembered he heard wolves down the lake. 
He picked up his rifle and skated down to meet his sister.” 

“May I have these skates?” asked Billy. “I like to look 
at them and remember that they belonged to a real girl. I’ll 
hang them on my wall.” 

“I’m sure that great-grandmother Ellen would be very 
happy to have them belong to you, Billy. You’re just the kind 
of boy that she would have approved of,” said Somebody. 

[90] 


How TTiartf^s ifo.vnag came 



66/r ^OBBLE, gobble, gobble,” said Mr. Turkey Cock 
I \ 7T P roudl y s P read ing his wonderful turkey tail fan 
and looking as pompous as no one but he can look. 

“Oh, you funny, conceited bird,” said the 
boy named Billy, “you won’t be so noisy next 
Thursday when we have you for Thanksgiving 
' dinner. But that reminds me—won’t some¬ 
body please tell me why the turkey is called 
our National bird? I thought it was the eagle. 
And why do we always have Thanksgiving Day 
on Thursday?” 

“Well, you see, Son,” said Somebody, “it started this 
way. As you of course know, our Pilgrim Fathers and 
Mothers came over in the Mayflower and landed on Plymouth 
Rock on November 21st, 1620; just one hundred and two 
brave souls in a strange land, full of strange people who 
might well resent their being there. Although it was late 
in the year and cold weather, they managed to build them¬ 
selves houses of a sort; but with the best that they could do 
more than half of them perished that first terrible winter. 

“When Spring came, those who were left, with the help 
of the Indians, bravely planted the crops and started to 
make a home in the wilderness. The Indians gave them corn 
for seed and taught them how to plow the land and fertilize 
it, and with the seed that they had brought with them they 
managed so well that when harvest time came they had a 
bountiful yield. To express their gratitude to God who had 
so marvelously prospered them, as well as to show their 
friendliness to the Indians, Governor Bradford issued a proc¬ 
lamation to the effect that they would have a Thanksgiving 
feast to which Chief Massasoit and his braves were to be 
invited, which should last from Thursday morning until 
Saturday night. That was in October, 1621. 

[91] 



“But the Pilgrim Mothers, remembering the harvest 
festivals of England, with the barbecued sheep and oxen 
which they used to have, said ‘How can we make a feast? 
We have no meat.’ ‘Meat,’ said Governor Bradford, ‘why 
the woods are full of it.’ So he sent four of his very best 
riflemen out into the forest for wild turkeys, and they brought 
back so many that there was enough meat for the three days 
feasting for the colonists and their guests, the Indians. And 
ever since then no Thanksgiving feast could be really right 
without a nice plump turkey.” 

“Did the Indians like the feast?” asked the boy named 
Billy. “Indeed they did,” said Somebody; “they liked it 
so well that Chief Massasoit sent his young men back with 
a gift of nice fat deer which they had shot especially for the 
colonists. Chief Massasoit wanted to show Governor Brad¬ 
ford that the Indians knew how to play fairly.” 

“So that’s how Thanksgiving became,” said the boy 
named Billy. 

“Yes,” answered Somebody, “but it was a long time 
after that before it became the good old holiday that we 
know now. 

“In the first year of his office, President George Washing¬ 
ton issued a proclamation recommending that November 26, 
1789, be kept as a day of “national thanksgiving” for the 
establishment of a form of government that made for safety 
and happiness. After that, it was only held at odd times, but 
in 1863 it became a National holiday and the last Thursday 
in November is always proclaimed by the President as a 
day of prayer and thanksgiving.” 

“We’re going to have the whole family here for dinner 
this year,” said the boy named Billy; “and we’re going to 
have turkey and cranberry jelly and pumpkin pie ’n’ every¬ 
thing. ” 

“ Gobble , gobble, gobble,” remarked Mr. Turkey Cock. 

“We shall!” remarked the boy named Billy, laughing. 

[92] 








OD rest ye merry gentlemen 
Let nothing you dismay, 
Remember Christ our Savior 
Was born on Christmas day,” 


sang ^e boy named Billy, a bit off key. “ Billy” 
begged Big Sister, “please get that correctly—you’ll 
throw the whole choir off if you sing it that way—come to the 
piano and I’ll drill you until you can sing it!” 

“Run along now, you’re letter perfect,” said Big Sister 
after a half-hour of practice, “I’m going to wrap up my gifts 
now, and it’s no fair peeking, either.” 

“Oh, I don’t care anything about your gifts,” said 
Billy, “I’m going to stay right here and Somebody is going 
to tell me all about Christmas and why we give gifts and 
everything. Was it because the wise men brought gifts to 
the baby Jesus?” 

“Perhaps,” said Somebody, “but it seems more likely 
that it grew out of the realization of God’s great gift to the 
world—the gifts of Love and Friendliness and Peace which 
He bestowed upon us in sending His only son to teach us 
how to live.” 

“ ‘Peace on earth, good will toward men,’ ” quoted Billy 
softly. “That’s enough to make people happy.” 

“Christmas was not always the happy time that it is 
now,” said Somebody. “The early Christians had rather a 
hard time of it.” 


[93] 






“I remember,” said the boy named Billy, “I never could 
understand how they had the courage to keep it up.” 

“They were upholding Truth,” said Somebody, “and 
Truth is the strongest thing in the world.” 

“Was Christ really born on December 25th?” asked 
Billy. 

“Probably not,” said Somebody. “The Eastern church 
celebrated January 6th, as the date of birth, calling it Epi- 
phania, while the Western church celebrated December 25th, 
calling it Natalis. The Pagans had a festival at this season 
of the year called The Birthday of the Sun of which 
they were very fond. Out of this grew the idea of using that 
time to celebrate the birth of Christ, the spiritual Sun of the 
world. This gradually took the place of the old pagan 
festival.” 

“The singing of Christmas songs is an English custom, 
is it not?” asked Billy. 

“Yes,” said Somebody. “There are many beautiful old- 
world customs which were left behind when the Puritans 
came to the new world in search of a place in which to 
worship in their own way. 

“In Devonshire, England, it is said that the bees sing 
all night long in their hives the night before Christmas, and 
if you are wise you will go and wish them a Merry Christmas 
and hang a bit of holly on each hive, else you may get no 
honey next year. 

“And you must on no account ask to borrow a match 
or a bit of fire on Christmas day, because fire is the symbol 
of the heart of the house and of happiness, and you must 
always add to and not take away from the happiness of 
others. 

“In spite of the Puritan’s striving to leave behind them 
all the old legends, several did survive. I remember that 
one Christmas Eve when I was a small child, my mother 
being away at a party, I was taken at midnight out to 
the stable to see the cattle, who were supposed to be on 

[94] 



Ithe lPa g ans laacf a IFestivat caffect 
the HSi rtftcCay of the 






























their knees, worshipping the child who was born in a manger.” 

“And were they?” asked the boy named Billy. 

“I couldn’t really say,” said Somebody, “but they all 
scrambled to their feet when they saw the light of the lantern, 
and asked for clover hay. It seemed to me that we had dis¬ 
turbed their slumbers! 

“In Norway is a most beautiful old custom that might 
well be copied everywhere,” went on Somebody, “which is 
called ‘The Ceremony of Feeding the Birds/ Two or three 
days before Christmas bunches of oats are placed on the 
roofs and tied to the branches of trees and shrubs, loads of 
grain being brought into the towns for the purpose. And 
no one would dream of sitting down to his own dinner without 
first giving every animal on the place an extra portion in the 
name of Christ.” 

“How did the Christmas-tree custom first begin?” asked 
Billy. “There is a tale to the effect that St. Boniface once 
came upon a group of Pagans at the Thunder Oak to which 
a living child had to be sacrificed every year, and, holding 
the Cross in front of the victim told the story of the coming 
of Christ. The child was saved, and the Oak destroyed by 
lightning, and in its place was seen a young fir tree pointing 
with its tall green finger toward heaven. From that time 
on Christianity was openly professed, until it has now cov¬ 
ered the whole world. 

“Today the observance of Christmas is universal. In 
England and America the little folks hang up their stockings 
in a row before the fireplace—in France the children place 
wooden shoes on the hearth to receive their gifts, and Nor¬ 
wegian children have a lot of fun hunting their new toys which 
have been tucked away in unexpected places. Everywhere it 
is above all the children’s holiday.” 

“That’s interesting,” said the boy named Billy. “Thank 
you and Merry Christmas, Somebody.” 

“Same to you Billy Boy,” said Somebody. 


[96] 

















-V 


THISISONEOF THE 

VOLLAND 


“HAPPY CHILDREN 
BOOKS” 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS • 

mjmmm I 

0 019 300 057 5 . ' 


PICTURES 
JOHN RAE 

























